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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mary  Randall 


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By  Lucy  Ellen  Guernsey. 


HISTORICAL    STORIES. 

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THOMAS    WHITTAKER, 
2  and  3  Bible  House New  York. 


LADY    ROSAMOND'S   BOOK. 


THE  SECOND  PART  OF 


THE  STANTON-CORBET  CHRONICLES 


BY  IUCY  ELLEN  i  GUERNSEY. 


MTTH08     OF      "LADY     BETTY'S     GOVERNESS,"     "IRISH    AMY,"     "  WIN  I  FEW 
**CHriSTMAS  AT  CEDAR  HII.L,"  "  SCHOOL-GIRL'S 
TREASURY,"  CHILD'S  TREASURE,"  etc 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS  WHITTAKER, 

Z    BIBJ.K    HOUSE. 


flittered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874,  by 

THOMAS  WHITTAKER, 

0  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington*  D.  C 


GIFI 


rl'o  fioctor  Charles  Marsh,  Nantucket: 

My  Dear  Doctor  : 

i  believe  i  owe  it  to  your  skill  and  kindness  thai 
[  am  alive  to  finish  this  book.  i  therefore  dedicate  ii 
i©  you,  as  some  acknowledgment  of  my  obligations. 

Lucy  Ellen  Guernsey. 


W854129 


PREFACE. 


HIS  book  is  not  meant  to  be  so  much  an 
exciting  story,  as  a  picture,  faithful  as  I 
have  been  able  to  make  it,  of  the  man- 
ners and  modes  of  thinking  of  the  time. 
How  far  I  have  succeeded  I  must  leave  others  to 
judge.  Those  who  look  for  any  piquant  tale  oi 
convent  scandal  will  be  disappointed.  I  have 
endeavored  to  depict  only  those  evils  which  I 
believe  absolutely  inseparable  from  monastic  life. 
I  do  not  believe  that  convents  were  always 
houses  of  ill-fame,  or  that  they  are  so  now.  In 
reading  the  letters  of  the  Commissioners  for  the 
Suppression  under  Cromwell  (published  by  the 
Camden  Society),  I  have  rather  wondered  that 
they  made  out  no  better  tale  for  themselves. 
And  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I  have 
known  many  most  estimable  ladies  in  the  so- 
called  religious  habit.  At  the  same  time,  I  be- 
lieve the  whole  principle  and  system  to  be  wholly 
false,  unnatural  and  unscriptural  ;  and  I  confess 


6  Preface, 

I  am  excessively  jealous  of  any  attempt  on  the 
part  of  Protestants  to  restore  that  system,  under 
any  name  whatever. 

I  have  taken  my  notions  of  convent  fife  not 
from  Protestant  but  from  Roman  Catholic  sources  ; 
and  though  I  dare  say  I  have  made  many  mis- 
takes, I  can  honestly  say  I  have  tried  to  do  no 
injustice.  The  discipline  of  the  religious  houses 
was  much  relaxed  at  the  time  of  which  I  write, 
and  I  might  have  made  out  a  very  dark  story 
from  the  accounts  of  Churchmen  themselves ; 
but  I  have  preferred  dealing  with  the  brighter 
and  pleasanter  aspect  of  the  matter. 

Those  who  have  read  "  Lady  Betty's  Gover- 
ness "  will  at  once  perceive  the  connection  be- 
tween the  stories.  My  idea  has  been  to  take  the 
same  family  at  different  periods,  and  thus  to 
illustrate  a  branch  of  history  too  much  neglected  ; 
I  mean  what  may  be  called  the  domestic  histor  y 
of  our  ancestors. 

Lucy  Ellen  Guernsey. 


THE  PREAMBLE. 


Stanton  Court,  August  21. 
FOUND  the  original  of  this  book  (1710) 
in  my  father's  library.  Remembering 
well,  when  I  was  a  child,  how  my  dear 
and  honored  mother  used  to  value  it, 
and  how  she  used  sometimes  to  read  to  us  young 
ones  little  bits  therefrom,  I  was  led  to  peruse  it 
myself;  and  since  that  time  I  have  amused  my 
leisure  hours  by  making  a  fair  copy  of  the  chro- 
nicle (for  such  it  really  is)  as  a  present  to  my 
dear  child  and  charge,  the  Lady  Lucy  Stanton. 

Amy  Rosamond  Stanton,  spoken  of  at  the  end 
ot  the  book,  was  my  grandmother,  my  father's 
mother.  She  was  in  many  respects  a  peculiar 
person,  very  beautiful  and  accomplished,  but 
uncommonly  retiring  and  serious  in  her  tastes, 
given  to  study  and  solitary  meditation,  specially 
after  the  death  of  her  husband.  My  mother  ever 
loved  her  as  an  own  mother,  and  we  have  still 
her   portrait.      It   represents  a  beautiful  woman 


8  The  Preamble, 

indeed,  but  so  absolutely  fair  and  colorless  as  to 
seem  almost  unreal.  There  is  a  tradition  in  the 
family  that  this  wonderful  fairness  is  derived  from 
a  certain  personage  called  "  The  Fair  Dame  oi 
Stanton,"  whom  one  of  the  Lords  of  Stanton 
married  in  foreign  parts.  The  story  goes  that 
this  fair  dame  was  one  of  those  strange  creatures, 
neither  quite  spiritual  nor  yet  wholly  human,  a 
kind  of  Melusina  or  Tiphane  Le  Fee,  and  that  she 
vanished  at  last  in  some  strange  fashion,  leaving 
two  children.  The  common  people,  and  some 
who  should  be  above  such  notions,  believe  that 
the  Fair  Dame  doth  sometimes  return  in  the 
person  of  one  of  her  descendants,  and  that  such 
a  return  always  bodes  woe  to  the  family.  But 
this  is  all  nonsense.  So  much  is  true  that  the 
lady  came  from  foreign  parts,  and  that  she  was 
possessed  of  this  curious  fair  beauty,  which  now 
and  then  reappears  in  the  person  of  some  de- 
scendant of  hers,  as  in  the  case  of  my  grandame. 
She  had  some  peculiarities  of  religious  belief, 
probably  inherited  from  her  Albigensian  ances- 
tors, and  'tis  certain  that  she  possessed  a  copy  of 
Holy  Scripture  as  done  into  English  by  Wickliffe. 
This  book  was  found  concealed  in  the  apartment 
known  as  the  Fair  Dame's  bower,  and  is  still 
preserved  in  our  library. 


The  Preamble.  p 

My  mother  also  wrote  a  chronicle  of  her  young 
days,  which  is  one  of  my  most  precious  posses- 
sions. I  would  fain  have  my  Lucy  do  the  same, 
but  she  is  a  true  Stanton,  and  cares  little  for 
books,  being  a  born  housewife.  Her  father  has 
married  a  second  time,  and  has  a  son,  so  that 
Lucy  is  no  longer  the  sole  hope  of  the  race. 
She  gets  on  well  with  her  stepmother,  who  is  an 
amiable  young  lady,  not  so  many  years  her 
.senior  as  T  could  wish,  but  still  she  loves  best  to 
pass  her  time  here  with  me,  in  this  home  of  my 
youth,  which  my  Lord  has  most  kindly  fitted  up 
and  given  me  for  my  life.  I  have  a  widowed 
daughter,  who  lives  with  me,  and  plenty  of 
grandchildren  to  visit  me,  so  that  I  am  never 
lonely.  But  I  meant  not  to  write  the  history  of 
my  own  life,  but  only  to  give  an  account  of  this 

book. 

Deborah  Corbet. 


LADY    ROSAMOND'S    BOOK. 


Edmund  Andrews,  for  sea  fisshe £o.  ivj.    x  /. 

John  Earle,  for  spice ixr.  xxd. 

Thomas  Smith,  dried  ling vj.  \md. 

Mistress  Ashe,  a  webbe  of  white  hollands xivs. 

John  Earle,  spices,  dates  and  almond . . . , £o     is.    xd. 

Mistress  Ashe,  needles,  silk  and  thread viiir. 

Mistress  Ashe,  a  webbe  of  fine  diaper xlr.    xxd. 


CHAPTER   I. 

SUPPOSE  I  had  better  begin  by  telling 
how  I  came  by  this  book,  though  that 
is  not  the  beginning  either,  but  per- 
haps it  will  do  as  well  as  any  other  to 
start  from.  Dear  Mother  says  I  am  to  write  a 
chronicle  of  my  life,  as  it  seems  some  ladies  of 
our  family  have  done  before  me.  So  here  I  begin 
by  first  putting  the  date  : 


St.  Swit hen's  Day,  in  the  year  of  Grace,  1529. 

Dear  Mother  Superior  was  in  the  library  this 
morning,  looking  at  the  work  I  have  been  help- 
ing Sister  Gertrude  to  finish,  of  putting  the  books 


t2  Lady  Rosamonds  Book;  or, 

in  order,  and  writing  out  a  fair  list  of  them. 
Sister  Gertrude  cannot  write  on  account  of  her 
eyes,  and  she  does  not  know  Latin,  and  as  I  do, 
and  can  write  a  fair  hand,  I  was  able  to  help  her, 
which  pleased  us  both  well. 

[/  do  shrewdly  suspect  there  was  another  hin- 
drance more  vital  than  the  dear  Sister  s  eyes,  but  1 
would  not  have  hinted  such  a  thing  for  the  world. 
If  she  did  not  know  writing,  she  knew  many  another 
thing  better  worth  knowing^ 

Well,  Mother  Superior  did  commend  our  dili- 
gence, and  gave  Sister  Gertrude  much  praise, 
which  she  in  turn  transferred  to  me,  at  which 
Sister  Catherine,  who  must  be  on  hand  as  usual, 
exclaimed  : 

"What  holy  humility  Sister  Gertrude  shows  I" 

"  Nay,  I  thought  not  of  humility,  but  only  of 
justice,  and  giving  the  child  her  due,"  answered 
Sister  Gertrude. 

"  I  fear  'twill  be  long  before  our  dear  young 
Rosamond  emulates  your  example,"  continued 
Sister  Catherine,  as  if  Sister  Gertrude  had  not 
spoken.  "  I  fear  her  gifts  are  but  a  snare  to  her 
in  that  respect.  Dear  Rosamond,  remember 
nothing  was  so  dear  to  St.  Frances  as  humility." 

"  Sister  Catherine,  is  not  your  charge  in  the 

•  The  sentences  in  brackets  were  writ  on  the  margin  of  Lady 
Rosamond's  book,  but  in  transcribing  I  have  put  them  m  the  body 
of  the  work.  Most  of  them  seem  to  have  been  added  at  a  latej 
date.— D.  C. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         7J 

wardrobe  at  this  hour  ?"  asked  Mother  Superior 
(methought  somewhat  dryly).  Sister  Catherine 
retired  without  a  word,  but  I  can't  say  she  looked 
very  humble.  If  she  were  not  a  devoted  religious, 
I  should  say  she  looked  ready  to  bite. 

"  You  have  made  a  good  piece  of  work  between 
you,  my  children,"  said  Mother  ;  "  and  now  we 
are  in  order,  we  must  keep  in  order.  Tis  not 
often  that  a  lady's  house  possesses  so  many  books 
as  ours,  and  we  have,  I  fear,  hardly  prized  them 
as  we  ought.  When  Rosamond  comes  to  be 
abbess,  she  will  make  our  poor  house  a  seminary 
of  learning." 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  child  ?" 

"  'Tis  a  great  book  of  blank  paper,  dear  Mother," 
^aid  I,  showing  this  book  to  her.  It  has  been 
Segun  as  an  accompt,  as  I  think,  and  then  as  a 
receipt*  but  it  is  mostly  empty." 

"And  you  would  like  to  fill  it  ?"  said  Mother, 
smiling  :  "  Well,  well,  you  have  been  a  good 
maid,  and  deserve  a  reward.  You  shall  have  the 
book,  and  write  a  chronicle  of  your  life  therein, 
as  did  your  great  grandame  of  hers.  You  are  a 
true  Corbet,  and  'Corbyswill  have  quills,' is  an 
old  saying  of  your  house." 

I  was  well  pleased,  for  I  do  love  to  write ;  but 
what  can  I  say  about  my  own  life,  only  the  little 
things  which  happen  every  day,  and  much  the 
same  to  every  one.  To  be  sure,  in  the  lives  of 
saints,  as  well  as  in  the  history  books,  I  do  love 
best  to  read  about  the  common  things,  even  such 


• 


t4  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  ory 

as  what  they  ate,  and  how  they  slept,  and  so  on. 
It  seems  to  bring  them  nearer  to  one.  Not  that 
I  shall  ever  be  a  saint,  I  am  sure.  Sister  Cath- 
erine was  right  there.  I  should  be  more  likely  to 
make  a  good  housewife.  Sometimes  I  fear  I  have 
no  vocation  at  all,  though  I  have,  as  it  were, 
grown  up  with  a  veil  on  my  face.  Richard  Stan- 
ton used  to  say  I  should  never  make  a  nun. 

Now  I  am  going  to  begin  my  life.  My  name  is 
Rosamond  Corbet,  and  I  was  born  in  Devonshire. 
My  father  is  a  worshipful  knight,  Stephen  Corbet 
by  name,  and  my  mother  Alice  Stanton,  a  niece 
of  my  Lord  Stanton,  at  the  great  house.  The 
Corbets  are  the  elder  family,  having  lived  at 
Fresh  Water  long  before  the  Stantons,  who  only 
came  in  with  the  Conqueror.  The  name  used  to 
be  writ  Corby,  and  the  common  folk  call  it  so  to 
this  day.  The  corby,  or  hooded  crow,  is  the 
cognizance  of  our  house,  and  this  bird,  commonly 
of  evil  omen,  is  said  to  be  lucky  to  our  race. 
'Tis  not  a  nice  bird,  and  I  could  wish  we  had  an 
eagle  or  a  falcon  to  our  crests  ;  but  after  all  they 
are  alike  birds  of  prey.  They  say  we  are  not 
Saxon,  but  British  in  descent,  and  that  is  how 
we  come  by  our  black  hair  and  eyes.  The  Stan- 
tons,  who  should,  methinks,  be  dark,  are  all  fair. 

I  was  the  youngest  of  my  family.  My  mother 
was  a  great  friend  of  the  Lady  Margaret  Vern  on, 
our  dear  Mother  Superior.  It  was  thought  at 
one  time  she  had  herself  a  strong  vocation,  but 
she  met  with  Sir  Stephen,  and  there  was  an  end 


77ie  Stanton- Coroet  Chronicles.         15 

of  that.  So  to  make  amends,  I  suppose,  she 
promised  her  second  girl  to  this  house,  or  her 
first,  if  she  had  but  one.  So  I,  being  the  second 
maid,  the  lot  fell  on  me,  and  I  have  spent  at 
least  half  my  time  here  since  I  was  five  years  old. 
I  like  it  well  enough  too,  though  I  confess  I  am 
now  and  then  glad  to  get  back  home  and  run 
about  the  woods  and  sands,  and  play  with  the 
babes  in  the  cottages.  I  do  love  children, 
specially  young  children.  I  think  my  vocation 
will  be  to  teaching,  or  else  to  the  pantry  and 
pastry-room.  Once  I  told  Sister  Gertrude  so, 
and  she  said  it  reminded  her  of  her  younger 
brother,  who  when  asked  what  he  would  do  when 
he  was  grown  up,  answered  that  he  would  be  a 
bishop,  or  else  a  fisherman,  like  old  Will  Lee. 

Once  I  stayed  at  home  six  years.  It  was  then 
I  learrfbd  to  write  and  to  construe  Latin,  from  my 
brother's  tutor,  Master  Ellenwood.  I  was  al- 
ways a  great  pet  of  his,  and  when  he  offered  to 
teach  me  Latin,  my  father  made  no  objection 
saying  that  a  little  learning  would  do  me  no 
harm,  and  might  sometime  stand  me  in  good 
stead. 

That  was  a  happy  time.  We  three  young  ones 
and  Dick  S'anton  studied  together  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  played  together  all  the  afternoon,  save 
for  the  two  hours  or  so  of  needlework,  and  the 
like,  which  my  mother  exacted  from  us  girls.  I 
may  say  without  vanity  that  brother  Henry  and  I 
were  the  best  scholars.    Alice  was  passable,  but 


1 6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

poor  Dick  was  always  in  disgrace.  In  all  the 
manly  exercises,  such  as  riding  the  great  horse, 
shooting  with  both  long  and  cross-bow,  sword 
play,  and  so  on,  however,  Dick  was  far  beyond 
any  of  the  other  lads.  So  he  was  in  managing 
a  horse,  a  dog,  or  a  hawk,  and  'twas  wonderful 
how  all  dumb  creatures  loved  him.  Now  he  is  a 
squire  in  France,  with  my  Lord  his  uncle,  and  I 
am  here.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  him 
again  in  this  world. 

My  mother  was  alive  then.  She  was  a  most 
notable  lady,  always  very  still  and  quiet,  but 
attending  well  to  the  ways  of  her  household,  and 
keeping  all  in  their  places,  not  by  any  assumption 
of  greatness,  but  by  the  dignity  and  kindness  of 
her  own  manners.  She  was  a  most  kind  mother, 
but  not  so  fond  as  some,  at  least  to  me.  It  used 
to  trouble  me  sometimes,  till  one  day,  by  chance, 
1  found  out  the  reason,  by  overhearing  some 
words  spoken  between  her  and  an  old  gentle- 
woman, a  kinswoman  of  hers,  who  stayed  some 
time  with  her. 

"  Methinks  Rosamond  is  no  favorite,"  said  my 
old  lady.  "  And  yet  'tis  a  good,  docile  little 
maid,  more  to  my  mind  than  Alice,  with  all  her 
beauty." 

"You  are  right,  kinswoman,"  replied  my 
mother;  "but  he  who  has  the  keeping  of  an- 
other's treasure,  if  he  be  wise,  does  not  suffer 
himself  to  be  overmuch  looking  upon  or  handling 
the  same.    Rosamond  is  not  mine,    She  is  given 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Ckro7iicles.         ij 

to  the  Church,  and  I  dare  not  give  my  mother's 
heart  its  way  with  her,  lest  my  natural  affections 
should  rise  up  against  my  Lord's  demands." 

[/  remember  my  own  heart  rather  rose  against 
this  doctrine,  even  then.  It  seemed  to  me  that  our 
Lord  cared  for  His  own  mother  even  on  the  cross. 
I  knew  that  much,  though  I  had  never  seen  the 
Scriptures  at  that  time,  and  I  could  not  see  why 
He  should  have  given  people  nattiral  affections 
only  to  be  trampled  on.  Now  I  know  that  St. 
Paul  places  them  who  are  without  natural  affection 
in  no  flattering  category] 

When  I  showed  this  that  I  have  written  to 
dear  mother,  she  said  I  must  run  my  pen  through 
what  I  wrote  about  Sister  Catherine.*  She  said 
we  must  concern  ourselves  with  our  own  faults 
and  not  with  those  of  others.  But  somehow  our 
own  faults  and  other  people's  will  get  mixed  to- 
gether. 

*  So  she  did,  but  not  so  that  I  could  not  read  it,  and  I  judged 
best  to  write  it  out  with  the  rest. — D.  C. 


CHAPTER  II. 


O  go  on  with  my  own  life.  One  year 
ago  my  dear  mother  died,  leaving  us 
young  ones  to  comfort  my  father,  who 
sorely  needed  comfort,  for  he  and 
mother  were  all  in  all  to  each  other.  Alice, 
who  is  three  years  older  than  I  am,  was  betrothed 
to  Sir  John  Fulton's  eldest  son,  and  by  mother's 
special  desire  the  wedding  was  hastened  that  she 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing,  as  she  said, 
both  her  daughters  settled  in  life.  I  think  she 
would  have  liked  me  to  make  my  profession  also, 
though  she  would  have  grieved  to  part  with  me, 
but  both  my  father  and  our  good  parish  priest 
were  against  it,  and  even  Mother  Superior  did  not 
favor  the  notion.  They  all  said  I  was  far  too 
young  to  know  mine  own  mind,  and  that  I  ought 
not  to  take  the  irrevocable  vows  till  I  was  eigh- 
teen at  the  least.     So  mother  gave  way. 

Her  death  followed  my  sister's  marriage  so 
quickly,  that  the  flowers  I  had  gathered  for  her 
that  day  were  not  fairly  withered  when  I  plucked 
rosemary  and  rue  to  lay  on  her  winding  sheet 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         fp 

She  passed  sitting  in  her  chair,  and  so  quickly, 
that  there  was  no  time  for  the  last  sacraments : 
for  we  had  not  thought  her  in  any  imminent  dan- 
ger, though  we  all  knew  she  must  die  soon.  My 
father  has  spent  much  money  in  masses,  and  talks 
of  building  a  chantry,  with  endowment  for  a 
priest  to  sing  for  her  soul.  The  thought  of  my 
dear  mother  in  purgatory  ought  to  make  me  a 
saint,  if  nothing  else  did. 

Father  clung  to  me  very  closely,  and  could 
hardly  bear  me  out  of  his  sight  after  mother  died, 
and  yet  he  himself  hurried  my  return  to  this 
place.  It  seemed  hard  that  I  could  not  stay  and 
comfort  him,  Alice  being  away;  but  when  I  hinted 
at  it,  he  reproved  me,  even  sternly. 

"  Child,  child  !  Would  you  make  matters  worse 
than  they  are  now,  by  taking  back  what  your 
mother  gave  ?  What  is  my  comfort  for  a  few  days 
or  years  ?  Go — go,  and  pray  for  your  mother's 
soul  r 

What  could  I  say  but  that  I  would  go  ?  Be- 
sides, it  really  is  no  great  hardship.  I  love  this 
house,  and  the  Sisters,  and  they  are  all  very  good 
to  me ;  even  Sister  Catherine  means  to  be,  I  am 
sure,  only  she  is  so  very  strict.  She  says  we  are 
a  shame  to  our  order — we  are  Bernardines — and 
that  if  St.  Francis  were  to  come  to  earth  again, 
he  would  not  own  us.  Sister  Catherine  says  the 
very  fact  of  Amice  and  myself  being  in  the  house, 
as  we  are  not  novices,  nor  yet  regular  postulants, 
shows  how  far  we  have  degenerated,  and  that  it 


$6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  OY, 

is  enough  to  bring  down  a  judgment  on  us.  She 
talks  about  going  to  London  and  joining  a  house 
of  Poor  Clares,  notable  for  the  extreme  strictness 
of  their  rule.     I  wish  she  would,  I  am  sure. 

I  don't  think  myself  that  we  are  very  strict — 
not  nearly  so  much  so  as  St.  Clare  was  when  she 
was  on  earth.  Still  we  observe  the  canonical 
Hours  carefully,  at  least  the  nuns  do,  for  Mother 
will  not  let  us  young  ones  be  called  up  at  night — 
and  we  do  a  great  deal  for  the  poor.  Some  half 
dozen  families  in  the  village  here  are  clothed  and 
fed  by  our  community  almost  entirely.  That 
same  Roger  Smith  has  help  all  the  time,  and  yet 
he  will  not  bring  us  so  much  as  an  eel  without 
having  the  full  price  for  it. 

There  are  twenty  professed  nuns  in  this  house, 
besides  the  Superior,  Margaret  Vernon,  the  Sa- 
cristine,  Mother  Agnes,  Mother  Gertrude,  who 
has  the  principal  charge  of  the  novices  and  of  us 
young  ones,  and  Sister  Catherine,  whose  charge 
is  the  wardrobe  and  linen-room  and  whose  busi- 
ness is  everyones  but  her  own.  Then  there  are 
three  novices,  Anne,  Clara,  and  Frances,  and 
Amice  and  myself,  who  for  fault  of  abetter  name, 
are  called  pupils. 

Amice  Crocker  is  an  orphan  girl,  niece  to  Mother 
Gertrude,  and  has  no  home  but  this.  She  is  very 
devout,  and  seems  to  have  a  real  vocation.  She 
is  always  reading  lives  of  the  Saints,  and  trying 
to  imitate  their  example,  but  her  imitations  do 
not  always  work  very  well.     For  instance,  the 


The  Stanton  Corbet  Chronicles.         21 

other  day  Mother  Gertrude  sent  her  to  the  ward- 
robe to  bring  down  some  garments  which  were 
wanted  in  a  hurry  for  a  poor  woman.  She  was 
gone  fully  half  an  hour,  and  at  the  last  I  was 
sent  to  look  for  her.  I  found  her  coming  down 
very  slowly  ;  indeed  she  was  pausing  a  minute  or 
more  on  every  stair. 

"  Amice,  what  makes  you  so  slow  ?"  I  ex- 
claimed, rather  vexed.  "  Don't  you  know  Mothet 
is  waiting  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  me,  but  continued  coming 
down  a  step  and  stopping,  till  Mother  Gertrude 
herself  came  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  just  as 
she  reached  the  bottom. 

"  What  ails  the  child  ?"  said  Mother,  rather 
sharply.  "  The  man  would  wait  no  longer,  and 
now  the  poor  woman  must  go  without  her  cloak." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !"  answered  Amice,  meekly. 
"  I  was  trying  to  emulate  the  example  of  that 
blessed  young  Saint,  Sister  Catherine  was  read- 
ing of  yesterday,  who,  when  he  went  up-stairs, 
always  paused  to  say  a  prayer  on  every  step." 

I  saw  Mother's  eyes  twinkle,  and  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  twitch. 

"  Well,  well,  I  wont  scold  you,  child,  but  re- 
member the  next  time  you  are  sent  on  an  errand 
that  your  business  is  to  do  the  errand,  and  try 
rather  to  follow  the  example  of  St.  Anthony, 
and  be  in  two  places  at  once." 

I  saw  Amice  was  mortified.  When  we  went 
away  together  she  was  silent  a  little,  and  I  could 


&&  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  of, 

see  she  was  trying  to  keep  back  her  tears.  Pre- 
.  sently  she  said  : 

"  Rosamond,  I  think  it  is  very  hard  to  follow 
the  example  of  the  Saints.  There  are  so  many 
of  them,  and  they  are  so  very  different." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  pick  out  one,  and 
keep  him  for  a  model,"  said  I. 

"But  how?"  asked  Amice.  "Now,  th.s  same 
saint,  for  instance.  When  he  was  only  five  years 
old,  he  wanted  a  friar's  habit,  and  he  cried  till  he 
got  it." 

"  He  would  have  cried  a  long  time  if  he  had 
my  mother  to  deal  with  !"  said  I  :  "or  rather,  I 
think  his  crying  would  have  been  cut  short 
rather  suddenly." 

"Just  so!"  said  Amice.  "We  were  taught  to 
obey  our  parents  in  all  things.  Then,  again,  when 
he  was  eight  years  old,  he  saw  his  mother  in  a 
red  dress,  and  reproved  her  severely,  telling  her 
that  the  color  would  drag  her  down  to  the 
flames  of  hell.  Now  I  think  (and  I  can't  help 
thinking),  that  Sister  Catherine's  way  of  snubbing 
and  putting  down  poor  Sister  Bridget  (though  she 
does  say  silly  things,  to  be  sure),  is  worse  than 
wearing  a  red  gown  :  but  suppose  I  should  re- 
prove Her i  what  do  you  think  would  happen  ?" 

"  I  can  guess  !"  said  I,  and  we  both  laughed  ; 
but  Amice  looked  very  sober  again,  directly. 

"  So  you  see,  Rosamond,  I  don't  know  what  to 
do,  because  whatever  Saint  you  choose  for  a 
model,  you  seem  to  run  against  somebody.     And 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         2j 

that  makes  me  say  I  wish  there  were  not  so 
,  many." 

"  If  we  knew  all  about  our  Lady,  or  one  of  the 
Holy  Apostles,"  said  I,  doubtfully  ;  "  or  suppose 
you  should  take  St.  Clare,  or  St.  Agnes." 

"Well,  St.  Clare  did  not  obey  her  parents 
either ;  she  ran  away  from  her  fathers  house  at 
midnight,  and  went  to  St.  Frances  !" 

11  Yes,  but  that  was  because  she  had  such  a 
high  vocation,"  I  answered,  "and  her  parents 
opposed  her.  I  suppose  that  is  different.  Any- 
how, Amice,  we  can  do  as  we  are  told,  and  that  is 
always  a  comfort.  Perhaps  it  is  the  safest  way 
for  girls  like  us." 

"  If  we  had  our  Lord's  life,  that  would  be  the 
best  of  all,"  continued  Amice,  not  paying  much 
attention  to  my  words  :  "  but  then,  of  course,  we 
never  could  hope  to  follow  that,  when  we  cannot 
even  reach  the  example  of  Saint  Francis  and 
Saint  Clare.  Anyhow,  I  wish  I  could  read  it  for 
once — all  of  it." 

"Why,  Amice,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing?" 
said  I,  rather  sharply,  I  am  afraid.  "  Don't  you 
know  what  Father  Fabian  said  in  his  sermon — 
that  it  was  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  by  un- 
learned men  which  made  all  the  heresies  and 
schisms  which  have  come  up  in  Germany  and  the 
Low  Countries  ?" 

Amice  looked  so  distressed  that  I  was  sorry  for 
my  words  directly. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to  be  a  heretic,  or  any- 


2+  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

thing  else  that  is  wrong  !"  said  she,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  I  would  like  to  please  everybody,  but 
somehow  I  am  always  going  wrong  and  making 
mistakes,  as  I  did  to-day.  I  keep  seeing  that 
poor  woman  going  over  the  moors  in  the  cold 
wind,  without  any  cloak,  and  yet  I  meant  no 
harm." 

"  I  am  sure  you  never  mean  to  be  anything  but 
the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,"  said  I,  kissing  her. 
•'As  to  what  happened  to-day,  I  wouldn't  think 
of  it  any  more." 

11 1  don't  see  that  I  can  do  anything  about  it 
now,  only  to  make  it  an  occasion  of  humility," 
says  Amice. 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  do  anything  better  with 
it  than  to  let  it  alone  and  think  about  something 
else,"  says  I.  and  so  the  matter  ended. 


•.? 


CHAPTER    111 


Feast  of  St.  Agnes,  Ap?-U  20. 
1^\  YEAR  ago  at  this  time  I  was  at  home, 
busily  preparing  flowers  and  wreaths  for 
my  sister's  bridal,  under  dear  mother's 
eye.  I  knew  Alice  wanted  violets,  and 
Dick  and  I  went  to  search  for  them  in  the  coombe, 
where  the  banks  being  shady,  the  violets  do  long- 
est linger.  When  we  had  filled  our  baskets  with 
the  flowers,  which  we  found  in  abundance,  both 
white  and  blue,  we  sat  down  a  little  on  the  moss 
to  listen  to  the  singing  of  the  birds  and  the  lapse 
of  the  water.  These  gentle  sounds,  albeit  most 
sweet  and  tender,  did  somewhat  dispose  us  to 
silence,  if  not  melancholy.  Presently  Richat  d 
said  : 

"  I  wonder  where  we  shall  be  a  year  from  now, 
Rosamond  ?  You  know  this  same  spring  used  to 
be  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  Fair  Dame  of  Stanton, 
my  ancestress.  They  say  she  used  to  see  in  the 
bosom  of  the  water,  as  in  a  mirror,  all  that  was  to 
come  to  pass." 

"  I  can  tell  pretty  well  where  we  shall  be  a  year 
from  now,  without  any  of  the  Fair  Dame's  arts," 


2 '6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

said  I.  "  You  know  she  was  said  to  be  a  heretic, 
if  not  worse." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  believe  it !"  answered  Dickf 
valiantly.  "  I  believe  she  was  a  good  woman,  and 
a  good  wife.  But  since  you  know  so  well,  tell  me 
where  we  shall  be  ?'' 

"  You  will  be  in  France  with  my  Lord  your 
uncle,"  said  I,  "  or  else  attending  him  at  Court, 
winning  your  spurs  by  brave  deeds,  or  dancing 
wirh  fair  dames  and  damsels  ;  and  I  shall  be  at 
tl.r  convent,  working  of  cutwork  copes  and  altar- 
cloths  in  silk  and  gold ;  or  helping  Mother 
Gertrude  dry  herbs,  and  distil  cordials,  and  make 
comfits  :  or  studying  the  lives  of  the  Saints  ;  or  " — 

"  Be  wasting  your  time  and  youth  on  some  non- 
sense or  other,"  interrupted  Richard,  who  never 
could  bear  to  hear  of  my  being  a  nun.  "It  is  a 
shame  !" 

"  It  was  my  mother's  doing,  and  I  will  not  hear 
a  word  against  it !"  said  I.  "  Besides,  I  don't  know 
why  I  shouldn't  be  happy  there  as  well  as  any- 
where else.  A  great  many  nuns  are  happy,  and 
beside  that,  Dick,  to  be  happy  is  not  the  business 
of  life." 

Dick  received  this  remark  with  the  grunt  which 
he  always  bestows  on  my  wise  speeches,  and  we 
were  silent  for  a  time.  Then  Dick  said  passion- 
ately, all  at  once — pointing  to  a  chaffinch,  a  dear 
little  fowl,  which  sat  on  a  twig  singing  his  very 
heart  out,  "Sweetheart!  sweetheart!"  over  and 
over  again  : 


The  Stan  Ion- Corbet  Chronicles.         2j 

"Rosamond,  nothing  shall  make  m«.  think  that 
yonder  bird  does  not  serve  God  just  as  acceptably 
while  he  is  flitting  about  gathering  food  for  his 
young  ones,  and  singing  in  the  free  air  of  heaven, 
as  if  he  were  shut  behind  the  bars  of  a  cage,  sing- 
ing the  same  song  over  and  over,  after  the  old 
bird-catcher's  whistle." 

"  The  bird  is  only  a  bird,"  I  answered,  "  and,  as 
Master  Ellenwood  often  tells  us,  comparisons  are 
no  arguments.  Besides,  Dick,  I  have  to  go,  so 
where  is  the  use  of  repining  ?  My  mother  has 
promised  for  me,  and  I  have  promised  her  again 
this  very  day  (and  so  I  had)  ;  so  where  is  the  use 
of  an  argument  ?" 

"  It's  a  shame  !"  said  Dick,  passionately ;  adding, 
"  If  you  cared  for  me  as  I  do  for  you,  you  wouldn't 
talk  so  coolly  of  its  being  an  end." 

Whereat  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  rise 
and  return  to  the  house. 

I  don't  know  why  I  have  written  this  down 
only  it  is  a  part  of  my  life.  There  can  be  no 
harm  in  it,  because  Richard  and  I  can  never  be 
anything  to  each  other — not  even  brother  and 
sister — because  a  good  religious  knows  no  ties  ol 
natural  affection.  No  doubt  the  coombe  is  full 
this  very  day  of  violets  and  primroses,  and  all 
other  sweet  flowers,  and  the  spring  is  welling  up 
and  running  over  its  basin  all  among  the  moss 
and  fern,  and  the  brook  liverwort ;  and  I  dare  say 
the  very  same  chaffinch  is  singing  there  this  min- 
ute.   There  are  violets  in  our  convent  garden  as 


28  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

well,  but  they  are  planted  in  a  straight  bed,  and 
Mother  Gabrielle  uses  the  flowers  to  make  her 
sirups,  and  the  leaves  are  gathered  for  our  sallets. 
There  is  a  spring,  too,  but  not  one  bit  like  that  in 
the  coombe.  That  boils  up  out  of  a  deep  and 
wide  cleft  in  the  rock,  filling  its  basin  full  and 
running  over  the  stones  in  twenty  little  vagrant 
streams.  Great  ferns  grow  over  and  shad'e  it,  and 
leaves  drop  into  it  in  the  autumn,  and  birds  and 
wild-wood  creatures  come  to  drink  of  its  waters. 
This  pours  in  a  steady  orderly  stream  from  a  pipe 
which  sticks  straight  out  from  the  wall,  and  runs 
down  a  straight  course,  paved  and  edged  with  cut 
stone,  into  the  stew-pond  where  we  keep  our  fish. 

Still  our  convent  garden  is  a  sweet  and  pretty 
place,  full  of  orderly  knots  and  beds  of  flowers  and 
herbs,  chiefly  such  as  are  good  to  distil  cordials, 
cr  to  help  out  our  messes  on  fast  days  —  rue, 
ind  mints,  and  hyssops,  and  angelica,  and  ca- 
raway, and  burnet — with  abundance  of  roses,  and 
gay  poppies,  and  white  lilies,  and  a  long  bed  of 
sweet  flowers  for  the  bees. 

We  have  a  fine  stock  of  bee-hives.  Then  we 
have  plum  and  pear  and  apple  trees,  and  a  bed  of 
strawberries.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  are  two 
most  ancient  elm  trees,  and  under  them  a  very 
small,  and  very,  very  old  chapel  of  our  Lady  of 
Sorrow ;.  Dear  Mother  says  it  is  by  far  the  oldest 
part  of  the  convent.  -  It  is  very  small,  as  I  said, 
built  of  huge  stones,  with  low  heavy  arches.  Over 
the  altar  stands  the  image  of  our  Lady,  rudely 


The  Canton- Corbet  Chronicles,         20 

carved  in  some  dark  wood.  It  is  a  very  holy 
image,  and  used  to  work  miracles  in  old  times.  I 
wish  it  would  again.  I  should  dearly  love  to  see 
a  miracle. 

At  the  back  of  this  chapel,  and  joining  it,  so  as  to 
be  under  the  same  roof,  is  another  building,  very 
low  and  massive,  with  no  windows,  but  one  very 
narrow  slit,  close  under  the  eaves.  A  heavy 
iron-studded  door  opens  into  it  from  the  chapel 
itself.  Mother  Gertrude  told  me  one  day  that  it 
contained  the  staircase  leading  to  a  burial  vault 
under  the  chapel,  now  never  used,  and  that  it  had 
not  been  opened  for  years  and  years. 

The  Sisters  are  not  fond  of  this  shrine,  holy  as 
it  is,  and  I  think  they  are  afraid  of  it.  Indeed  I 
know  Sister  Bridget  told  me  that  if  an  unfaithful 
nun  were  to  watch  there  over  night,  she  would  be 
found  dead  on  the  floor  in  the  morning — if  indeed 
a  ghost  or  demon  did  not  arise  from  the  vault 
and  drag  her  down  to  a  living  death  below. 

M  I  should  not  think  a  ghost  would  dare  to  come 
into  the  sacred  place  !"  said  Amice. 
•     "  Evil  spirits  have  power  over   the   unfaithful, 
wherever  they  are — remember  that,  child  !"  said 
Sister  Bridget,  solemnly. 

"And  over  the  faithful  too,  sometimes,"  said 
Amice,  who  is  as  usual  reading  the  lives  of  Saints. 
u  1  am  sure  St.  Frances  was  dreadfully  disturbed 
by  them  " 

"  Power  to  disturb,  but  not  to  destroy  them, 
<l\M.     But  prayers  offered  at  that  shrine  have 


$0  Lady  Rosamond's  Booh:  or% 

gr^at  efficacy  for  the  deliverance  of  souls  from 
purgatory,"  said  old  Mother  Mary  Monica,  who 
is  the  oldest  person  in  the  house,  and  very  fond 
of  the  company  of  us  young  ones.  "  If  any  one 
had  a  friend  in  purgatory,  and  should  watch  all 
night  in  prayer  before  that  image,  it  would  go  far 
to  deliver  him." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Mother  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Think  so,  child  !  I  know  it  for  a  truth.  The 
blessed  Saint  Ethelburga  herself  tried  it,  and 
was  assured  by  a  vision  and  a  miracle  that  her 
prayers  were  granted.  Eh  dear,  I  could  tell  you 
many  stories  of  miracles,  my  daughters.  They 
used  to  be  plenty  in  my  young  days.  Why,  I 
was  converted  by  a  miracle  myself." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,  dear  Mother,  will  you  ?"  said 
Amice  and  I  both  together  ;  and  Amice  added, 
"See,  here  is  a  nice  seat,  and  the  warm  sun  is 
good  for  your  pains,  you  know."  So  she  sat 
down,  the  good  old  soul,  and  Amice  and  I  on 
stones  at  her  feet,  and  she  told  us  the  tale.  I 
will  set  it  down  just  as  I  remember  it. 

11  You  must  know,  my  children,  that  I  was  a 
giddy  young  girl  in  attendance  on  the  Queen  — 
not  the  Queen  that  now  is,  but  Queen  Elizabeth, ' 
wife  of  Henry  the  Seventh,  this  King's  father — 
when  I  went  with  my  mistress  to  make  a  re- 
treat at  the  convent  of  the  poor  Clares,  in  Lon- 
don "— 

"  The  same  that  Sister  Catherine  is  always 
praising,"  said  I. 


The  Stanton-  Corbet  Chronicles.         ji 

"  Ves,  the  very  same  ;  but  don't  you  put  me 
out.     Where  was  I  ?" 

"  Where  you  went  with  the  Queen  to  make  a 
retreat,  dear  Mother." 

4tO  yes.  Well,  I  had  been  a  giddy  girl,  as  I 
told  you,  but  1  had  been  somewhat  sobered  of 
late,  because  my  cousin  Jack,  whom  my  father 
always  meant  I  should  wed,  had  been  on  the 
wrong  side  in  the  late  troubles,  and  was  in  hiding 
at  that  time.  Now,  I  liked  Jack  right  well,  and 
was  minded  to  marry  none  other  ;  but  I  was  a 
King's  ward,  my  father  being  dead,  and  I  having 
a  good  fortune.  So  I  had  a  many  suitors,  and  I 
knew  the  King  was  favorable  to  a  knight,  Sir 
Edward  Peckharri,  of  Somerset,  who  had  come  to 
him  with  help  just  at  the  right  time.  Now,  I 
wanted  nobody  but  Jack  ;  but  of  all  my  suitors 
there  was  none  that  I  misliked  so  much  as  Sir 
Edward  Peckham  !" 

44  Why  ?"  asked  I,  much  interested. 

"  Because  I  could  not  abide  him,  child.  That 
was  reason  enough.  Well,  things  being  even  in 
this  shape,  I  was  glad  enough  when  my  mistress 
made  her  retreat  in  the  convent  of  the  Poor 
Clares,  and  chose  me  to  attend  on  her,  out  of  all 
her  train.  That  was  a  strict  order,  children. 
Matins  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning — not  over- 
night, as  we  have  them  here — no  food  till  dinner 
at  eleven,  and  no  flesh  meat  even  on  feast  days — 
almost  perpetual  silence  !  Well,  it  was  always 
and  ever  my  way  to  tall  in  with  whatever  was 


$2  Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  or, 

going  on,  let  it  be  what  it  might ;  so  I  fasted  and 
prayed  with  the  best,  and  kept  all  the  hours,  till 
I  was  so  tired  I  could  hardly  stand.  In  the 
midst  of  it  all  came  a  messenger  to  my  mistress 
from  the  King,  bidding  her  return  to  the  Court  in 
three  days  and  bring  me  with  her,  for  the  King 
was  minded  that  my  marriage  should  no  longer 
be  put  off. 

"  Children,  I  was  like  one  distracted,  and  I 
was  all  but  ready  to  cast  myself  away,  body  and 
soul.  The  Mother  Superior  marked  my  grief, 
and  I  was  won  to  tell  her  the  whole.  She  was 
an  austere  woman — not  one  bit  like  our  Mother- 
but  she  was  very  kind  to  me  in  my  trouble  " — 

"  I  am  sure  our  dear  Mother  Superior  is  a  saint, 
if  ever  there  was  one,"  said  I. 

"  That  she  is,  that  she  is,  child  ;  but  there  may 
be  a  difference  in  saints,  you  know.  Well, 
Mother  Superior  pitied  my  grief,  and  soothed  me, 
and  when  I  was  quieted  like,  she  councilled  me 
to  watch  all  night  before  a  shrine  in  which  were 
some  very  holy  relics — specially  part  of  the  veil 
of  St.  Clare,  our  blessed  founder. 

"  Perhaps  the  Saint  may  take  pity  on  you  and 
show  you  the  way  out  of  your  present  troubles," 
said  she.  "  Fast  this  day  from  all  food,  my 
daughter,  and  this  night  I  will  myself  conduct 
you  to  the  shrine  where  you  are  to  watch." 

"  Well,  children,  I  did  fast  and  say  my  rosary 
all  the  rest  of  the  day,  till  I  was  ready  to  drop  ; 
and  at  nine  at  night  the  Mother  Superior  led  me 


The  Stanton-  Corbet  Chronicles.         jy 

to  a  little  chapel  off  the  church,  where  was  the 
shrine  of  St.  Clare.  It  was  all  dark — only  looking 
toward  the  church  I  could  just  see  the  glimmer 
of  the  ever-burning  lamp,  before  the  Holy  Sacra- 
ment of  the  Altar.  Here  she  left  me,  and  here  I 
was  to  kneel  till  daylight,  saying  my  prayers  and 
the  seven  psalms." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  kneel  so  long," 
said  Amice. 

11 1  might  lie  prone  a  part  of  the  time,  if  I 
would,"  replied  Mother  Mary  Monica,  "and  so 
indeed  I  did.  I  don't  know  what  time  it  was — 
somewhere  before  Matins,  and  I  know  not  whether 
overcome  with  fatigue  I  had  not  dozed  a  little, 
when  I  was  waked  by  a  bright  light.  I  raised 
myself  on  my  knees,  and  looking  toward  the 
altar,  I  saw  the  figure  of  St.  Clare  surrounded  by 
a  clear  but  mild  radiance,  and  holding  out  to  me 
in  her  hand  a  nun's  veil,  while  a  voice  of  heavenly 
sweetn  ss,  said  to  me  these  words  :  4  Here,  my 
child,  is  thy  only  refuge.'  The  light  faded  away, 
and  I  sunk  down — in  a  swoon  this  time,  for  when 
some  of  the  Sisters  came  to  seek  me  at  prime, 
they  found  me  pale  and  lifeless,  while — mark,  my 
daughters — on  my  head  was  laid  that  most  sacred 
relic,  the  veil  of  St.  Clare — yes,  on  this  unworthy 
head  the  blessed  veil  was  laid." 

We  both  looked  at  the  good  Mother  in  a  kind 
of  awe. 

11  Well,  I  told  the  good  Sisters  and  my  mistress 
what  I  had  seen.    There  could  be  no  doubt  after 


34  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

that  in  my  mind,  especially  as  two  or  three  days 
after  I  had  certain  news  of  Jack's  death.  The 
King  would  not  hear  of  my  profession  at  first,  but 
the  Prior  of  the  Franciscans  took  my  part, 
and  his  Majesty  would  not  have  liked  setting  the 
whole  of  the  Gray  Friars  against  him  ;  so  he 
gave  way,  and  even  paid  over  my  portion,  which 
must  have  gone  hard,  for  his  blessed  Majesty  was 
fond  of  money  ;  and  Sir  Edward  went  home 
riding  alone,  with  a  flea  in  his  ear,  instead  of  a 
gay  bride  by  his  side.  Marry  him,  indeed,  with 
his  thin  legs  and  his  long  lean  jaws  !  So  that  is 
the  way  I  was  converted,  my  children,  and  got 
my  own  way,  by  the  help  of  the  Blessed  St. 
Clare,  to  whom  I  have  always  had  a  particular 
devotion  ever  since.  And  who  knows  what 
miracles  might  be  vouchsafed  to  you,  if  you  were 
to  watch  all  night  before  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  ?" 
We  had  no  time  for  any  more  talk  just  then, 
but  ever  since  I  have  been  turning  over  in  my 
mind  what  Mother  Mary  Monica  said.  It  does 
seem  dreadful  to  me — the  thought  of  watching 
all  night  and  alone  in  that  dreary  place  without  a 
light.  To  be  sure,  the  moon  is  at  the  full,  and 
would  shine  directly  into  the  great  window,  but 
then  those  dreadful  vaults,  and  Sister  Bridget's 
story  do  so  run  in  my  head.  Every  time  the 
wind  shook  the  ivy  or  whistled  in  the  loopholes 
of  the  stones,  I  should  fancy  it  a  rustle  among 
the  graves  below,  or  the  grating  of  that  heavy 
door  on  its  hinges.    And  then,  so  cold  and  damp. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         J  J 

Wretch  that  I  am,  to  weigh  these  things  one  mo- 
ment in  the  balance  against  my  dear  mother's 
soul !  I  feel  sure  that  she  could  not  have  died  in 
mortal  sin,  but  to  pass  without  the  sacraments, 
without  one  moment's  warning  !  Oh,  it  is  dread- 
ful !  And  then  her  marrying  instead  of  taking 
the  vail.  That  I  think  troubles  dear  Mother 
Superior  worse  than  anything.  Yes,  I  am  uuite 
resolved.  I  will  watch  this  very  night  before  the 
shrine  in  the  garden  chapel ;  but  I  will  tell  no- 
body of  my  resolve,  save  Amice  and  Mother  Ger- 
trude. I  don't  want  the  whole  flock  exclaiming, 
pitying  or  praising  me,  or  hinting  at  my  setting 
up  for  a  saint,  as  some  of  them  do. 

[Of  course,  being  now  enlightened  by  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, I  do  not  believe  that  my  dear  mother  was  ben- 
efitted by  my  watching,  nor  indeed  that  she  needed 
such  benefit ;  but  I  will  ever  maintain  that  the  ex- 
ertion to  overcome  my  own  fears  (which  were  very 
terrible) ,  for  my  mother's  sake,  was  of  great  service 
to  me.  '  Twas  a  true  act  of  self-sacrifice,  thoiigh 
done  in  ignorance,  and  that  not  to  pile  tip  a  stock  of 
merit  for  myself,  but  to  do  good  to  another.  And, 
doubtless,  many  such  acts  have  been  blessed  to  the 
doers  of  them,  though  as  regards  their  own  essential 
value,  they  are,  as  old  Prudence  would  say,  but  chips 
in  porridge,  doing  neither  good  nor  harm.] 


CHAPTER   IV. 


s 

Feast  of  St.  Catherine \  April  29. 
HIS  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  able  to 
write  since  my  watching  at  our  Lady's 
shrine,  at  which  time  I  took  such  a  chill 
and  rheum  as  have  kept  me  laid  up  ever 
since.  Mother  Gertrude  was  much  opposed 
thereto,  but  could  say  nothing  against  it,  seeing 
that  Mother  Superior  had  given  her  consent. 

"  If  she  wants  to  send  the  child  after  her 
mother,  she  has  taken  the  next  way  to  do  it,"  I 
heard  her  mutter  to  herself. 

"  Why,  dear  Mother,  should  you  have  such  fears 
for  me,"  I  asked.  "  I  have  lately  confessed  (and 
so  I  had  the  day  before),  and  I  am  sure  I  am  not 
false  to  my  vows,  because  I  have  never  taken 
any.  Why,  then,  should  the  demon  have  power 
over  me  ?" 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  demon,  child,  but 
of  the  damp,"  answered  Mother  Gertrude,  in  her 
matter-of-fact  way.  "  However,  I  say  no  more. 
I  know  how  to  be  obedient,  after  all  these  years. 
And  nobody  can  deny  but  it  is  a  good  daughter's 
heart  which  moves  thee,  my  child,  and  so  God 
and  all  the  Saints  bless  thee." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         $j 

Amice  would  have  shared  my  watch,  only  it 
was  needful  one  should  go  alone  ;  but  she  pro- 
mised to  watch  in  her  cell.  She  went  with  me. 
to  the  chapel  door,  as  did  Mother  Gertrude;  and 
wo  said  some  prayers  together.  Then,  as  the 
hour  of  nine  tolled,  they  kissed  me  and  went 
their  way,  leaving  me  to  my  solitary  watch  and 
ward. 

Oh,  what  a  lone  and  long  night  it  was  !  I  did 
not  mind  it  so  much  before  midnight,  for  the 
moon  shone  fair  into  the  great  east  window,  and 
two  nightingales,  in  the  garden  outside,  answered 
each  other  most  melodiously  from  side  to  side. 
My  mother  ever  loved  the  nightingale  above  all 
other  birds,  because  she  said  its  song  reminded 
her  of  her  young  days  in  the  midland  of  England. 
They  are  rare  visitors  with  us.  But,  as  I  said, 
dear  mother  ever  loved  this  bird's  song,  and  now 
their  voices  seemed  to  come  as  a  message  from 
herself,  in  approval  of  what  I  was  doing.  I  knelt 
on  the  cold  stones,  before  our  Lady's  shrine,  say- 
ing my  rosary,  and  repeating  of  Psalms,  and  the 
first  two  hours  did  not  seem  so  very  long.  But 
the  birds  stopped  singing.  The  moon  moved  on 
her  course,  so  that  the  chapel  was  left  almost  in 
darkness.  The  south-west  wind  rose  and  brought 
with  it  all  kinds  of  dismal  sounds,  now  moaning 
and*  sobbing  at  the  casement,  and  shaking  it  as  if 
to  gain  an  entrance  ;  now,  as  it  seemed,  whisper- 
ing in  the  vaults  under  my  feet,  as  if  the  ghosts 
might  be  holding  a   consultation   as  to  the  best 


$8  Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  ory 

way  of  surprising  me.  Anon,  the  great  heavy 
door  of  which  I  have  before  spoken,  did  a  little 
jar  on  its  hinges,  and  from  behind  it  came,  as  it 
seemed,  the  rustling  of  wings,  and  then  a  thrilling 
cry  as  of  a  soul  in  pain. 

I  felt  my  blood  grow  cold,  and  my  flesh  creep, 
and  my  head  swim.  But  'tis  not  the  custom  of 
our  house  for  the  women  more  than  the  men  to 
give  way  to  fear,  and  I  was  determined  I  would 
not  be  overcome.  I  said  stoutly  to  myself, 
"  That  sobbing  and  whispering  is  of  the  wind — 
those  wings  are  the  wings  of  bats  or  owls,  which 
have  found  refuge  in  the  old  tower — that  is  the 
cry  of  the  little  white  owl,  which  I  have  heard  a 
hundred  times  at  home — that  low  roar  is  the  rote 
of  the  surf  which  we  ever  hear  at  night  when 
the  wind  is  south-west."  So  I  reasoned  with 
myself,  and  then  to  calm  myself  still  farther,  I 
began  to  repeat  the  Psalms,  of  which  I  know  the 
greater  part  by  heart,  thanks  to  Master  Ellen- 
wood,  beginning  with  the  Psalm,  "Beati,  quorum." 
And  here  a  strange  thing  happened  to  me,  for 
no  sooner  had  I  repeated  the  words,  "  Whoso 
putteth  his  trust  in  the  Lord,  mercy  embraceth 
him  on  every  side,"  than  there  came  over  me 
such  a  wonderful  sweetness  and  confidence  as  I 
am  not  able  to  describe.  I  seemed  to  feel  that  I 
was  in  the  very  house  of  God,  where  no  harm 
could  come  to  me,  nor  any  evil  thing  hurt  me. 
And  'twas  not  only  for  myself  that  I  felt  this 
assurance,  but   for  m^  dear    mother    also.      "If 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chro7iicles.         3$ 

ever  woman  did  put  her  trust  in  God,  I  am  sure 
she  did  so,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  therefore, 
wherever  she  is,  I  have  His  own  word  for  believ- 
ing her  to  be  embraced  in  the  arms  of  His 
mercy." 

And  with  that  I  went  to  prayer  again,  for  my 
father  and  brother,  and  for  Alice  and  her  husband, 
and  her  young  babe,  and  then  for  poor  Dick. 
And  (I  know  not  if  right  or  wrong)  I  used  no  form 
of  words,  but  did  pour  out  my  soul  almost  as  freely 
as  if  I  had  been  talking  alone  with  mother  in  her 
closet,  when  kneeling  beside  her,  with  my  arms 
on  her  lap,  she  used  graciously  to  encourage  me 
to  pour  out  all  my  thoughts  and  fancies.  If  that 
had  been  all,  there  had  been  no  great  harm  done, 
mayhap  ;  but  from  praying  for  Dick,  I  fell  to  think- 
ing of  him,  and  recalling  all  our  passages  together, 
from  the  early  days  when  my  father  used  to  set 
me  behind  him  on  the  old  pony,  and  when  we 
used  to  build  forts  and  castles  on  the  sand  of  the 
shore,  to  our  last  sad  parting,  almost  a  year  ago. 

'Twas  very  wrong  to  indulge  such  thoughts  in 
such  a  sacred  place,  and  that  I  knew,  and  did 
constantly  strive  to  bring  my  mind  into  a  better 
frame.  But  the  more  I  tried  the  more  I  wander- 
ed, and  at  last  I  believe  I  dropped  asleep.  I  could 
not  have  slept  long,  when  I  was  waked  by  the 
most  horrid  screams  and  cries — now  like  those  of 
a  young  child,  now  like  a  woman  in  fits,  now  like 
the  ravings  of  a  madman,  all  seemingly  in  the 
chapel  itself.     I  fell  prostrate  on  my  face,  at  the 


#0  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  ory 

same  moment  that  something  rushed  by  me  with 
a  great  noise,  closely  pursued  by  something  else, 
which  brushed  me  as  it  passed.  Now,  though 
terribly  scared,  I  yet  felt  my  spirit  rise  as  I  dis- 
covered that  the  thing  had  a  material  existence  ; 
and  though  the  cold  sweat  stood  on  my  forehead, 
and  my  heart  seemed  all  but  to  stop  beating,  I 
raised  myself  once  more  on  my  knees  and  looked 
around.  My  eyes  had  by  this  time  grown  used  to 
the  dim  light,  and  I  could  see,  crouched  on  the 
very  step  of  the  altar,  a  dark  creature,  which 
looked  at  me  with  green  fiery  eyes.  Then  it  came 
to  me,  and  I  all  but  laughed  aloud. 

"  Puss,  Puss  !"  said  I. 

"Mieeo  !"  answered  a  friendly  voice,  and  poor 
old  Tom,  our  convent  cat,  came  to  me,  rubbing 
his  head,  and  purring  in  quite  an  ecstacy  of  joyful 
surprise.  I  saw  in  a  moment  how  it  was.  Tom 
is  a  regular  Lollard  of  a  cat,  and  cares  no  more  for 
the  Church  than  the  cowhouse — indeed  Sister 
Catherine  once  found  him  sitting  on  the  high  altar, 
and  would  have  slain  him  had  not  Mother  Superior 
interfered.  He  had  been  entertaining  a  select 
party  of  his  own  friends  in  the  Lady  Chapel,  and 
some  cause  of  dispute  arising,  he  had  chased  them 
all  out,  and  remained  master  of  the  field. 

I  took  the  old  fellow  in  my  arms,  and  caressed 
him,  and  he  bumped  his  head  against  my  face, 
making  his  prettiest  noises.  Then  I  rose  and 
walked  to  and  fro  to  warm  myself  a  little,  for  it 
was  very  chill,  and  tried  once  more  to  bring  my 


The  Stanton* Corbet  Chronicles,         41 

thoughts  in  order  by  repeating  my  fa  rorite  Psalm, 
though  not  with  as  much  comfort  as  before,  be- 
cause of  the  sin  I  had  committed  by  thinking  of 
Dick  when  I  should  have  been  praying.  How- 
ever, at  the  words,  "I  said  I  will  confess  my  sins 
unto  the  Lord,"  I  found  consolation,  for  I  thought, 
"  then  I  need  not  wait  to  confess  to  Father 
Fabian,  but  can  make  my  confession  now,  in  this 
place." 

So  I  did,  and  then  once  more  repeating  my  ro- 
sary, I  sat  down  on  a  rude  bench  which  was  there, 
to  rest  a  few  moments.  That  was  the  last  of  my 
meditations  and  prayers,  for  I  fell  fast  asleep, 
with  Puss  in  my  lap,  and  slept  till  I  was  waked 
by  the  sun  shining  into  the  great  east  window. 
I  was  very  sleepy,  and  could  hardly  make  out 
where  I  was ;  but,  however,  I  said  my  prayers 
once  more,  and  then  Mother  Gertrude  came  to 
seek  me,  and  make  me  go  to  bed. 

Ever  since  then  my  mind  has  been  wonderfully 
calmed  and  comforted  about  my  mother.  I  seem 
to  see  her,  embraced  by  mercy  on  every  side,  and 
entered  into  her  rest.  So  I  do  not  grudge  my 
cold,  though  it  has  kept  me  in  bed  ten  days,  dur- 
ing which  time  Mother  Gertrude  has  ft  J  me  with 
possets  and  sirups,  and  good  things  more  than  I 
can  eat. 

This  morning  I  made  a  full  confession  to  Father 
Fabian  of  my  wandering  thoughts  during  my 
night  watch,  and  the  rest.  The  good  old  man 
was  very  kind,  and  ^ave  me  light   penance.     I 


42  Lady  Rosamond's  Book ,   or, 

asked  him  what  I  must  do  to  prevent  such  wan- 
derings in  future. 

"  I  will  consider  of  that,"  said  he.  "  You  are 
a  Latin  scholar,  and  can  write  a  good  hand,  they 
tell  me." 

I  assured  him  that  I  could  write  fair  and  plain, 
and  had  a  good  knowledge  of  Latin,  so  that  I 
could  read  and  write  it  with  ease. 

II  Ah,  well !"  said  he  :  "we  must  find  some  way 
to  turn  these  gifts  to  account.  Meantime,  daugh- 
ter, be  busy  in  whatever  you  find  to  do  whereby 
you  can  help  others  ;  say  your  psalms,  and  medi- 
tate on  them,  and  never  trouble  thyself  about  the 
devil." 

'Twas  an  odd  saying,  methought,  for  a  priest. 
I  told  Amice  all  about  my  night  watch,  as  I  do 
tell  her  everything. 

"  Do  you  really  think  " — said  she,  and  then  she 
stopped. 

"Well,  do  I  really  think  what  ?"  I  asked,  see- 
ing she  did  not  continue. 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  any  ground  for  your 
confidence  about  your  mother,  from  that  verse  in 
the  Psalm  ?" 

I  felt  hurt  for  a  minute,  and  I  suppose  my  face 
showed  it,  for  Amice  added,  "  Don't  be  displeased, 
Rosamond.  I  only  ask  because  it  seems  almost 
too  good  to  be  true.  If  you  should  find  what 
seemed  to  be  a  precious  pearl,  you  would  wish  to 
know  whether  it  really  was  a  pearl,  or  only  an 
imitation,  wouldn't  you  ?" 


The  Stanton- Corbet   Chronicles,         43 

"To  be  sure,"  I  answered  and  then  I  consid- 
ered a  little. 

"  Yes,  I  do  think  I  have  ground  for  my  confi- 
dence, though  I  am  not  quite  sure  I  can  explain 
it.  You  know,  Amice,  the  Psalms  are  inspired — 
a  part  of  the  word  of  God,  and  therefore,  surely, 
their  promises  are  to  be  taken  as  true.  The 
Psalm  says,  ■  Whoso  putteth  his  trust  in  the 
Lord,  mercy  embraceth  him  on  every  side.'  Now, 
I  know  my  dear  mother  did  put  her  trust  in  the 
Lord,  if  woman  ever  did  in  this  world,  and,  there- 
fore, I  am  at  ease  for  her,  though  she  died  with- 
out the  Sacraments,  which  was  not  her  fault." 

"  You  used  your  night  watch  to  good  purpose, 
if  you  thought  out  all  this,"  said  Amice. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  out — it  came  to  me,"  said  I. 

"  Came  to  you — how  ?"  asked  Amice. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  I  answered,  I  am  afraid,  a 
little  impatiently.  "  I  am  not  used  to  taking  all 
my  thoughts  and  feelings  to  pieces,  as  you  do. 
I  only  know  that  it  seemed  to  come  to  me  from 
outside  my  own  mind — to  be  breathed  into  my 
heart,  as  somebody  might  whisper  in  my  ear." 

"  It  is  very  lovely,"  said  Amice,  with  a  sigh 
"  It  is  like  some  of  the  visions  of  the  Saints.  1 
think,  Rosamond,  you  will  be  a  Sair>t,  like  St. 
Clare  or  St.  Catherine."  # 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  I.  "  It  is  a  great 
deal  more  in  your  way  than  mine." 

We  were  busy  in  the  garden  while  we  were 
talking,  gathering  rosemarv  and  violets  for  Mo- 


44  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

ther  Gertrude  to  distil.  Amice  had  her  lap  full 
of  rosemary,  and  she  sat  down  and  began  pulKng 
it  into  little  bits. 

"  Rosamond,"  said  she,  presently,  looking  about 
her,  and  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  u  do  you  really 
like  the  notion  of  being  a  nun  ?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  ask  myself 
whether  I  like  it  or  not,"  I  answered  her.  "  What 
is  the  use  ?  I  had  no  choice  in  the  matter  my- 
self. Here  I  am,  and  I  must  needs  make  the  best 
of  it.  There  would  be  little  profit  in  my  asking 
myself  whether  I  really  liked  to  be  a  woman 
instead  of  a  man.  I  like  being  here  in  the  garden, 
pulling  flowers  for  Mother  Gertrude,  and  I  like 
taking  care  of  the  books,  dusting  them  and  read- 
ing a  bit  here  and  there,  and  I  like  singing  in  the 
church,  and  working  for  the  poor  folk,  though  I 
should  like  still  better  to  teach  them  to  work  for 
themselves." 

"  I  suppose,  of  course,  it  is  the  highest  life  to 
which  one  can  obtain  !"  said  Amice,  thoughtfully. 
"  And  yet  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  meant  that 
some  people  should  marry  and  bring  up  families." 

"I  suppose  it  must,  since  without  some  such 
arrangement,  the  race  of  religious  must  come  to 
an  end  before  long,"  said  I. 

"  Of  course  !"  continued  Amice,  in  the  same 
musing  tone.  You  know  St.  Augustine  had  a 
mother,  and  so  did  St.  Frances  !" 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  one  who  had  not?  " 
said  I,  laughing.     "But  to  return  your  question 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         45 

upon  yourself,  Amice,  how  do  you  like  the  notion 
of  being  a  nun  ?" 

"  Not  one  bit !"  said  Amice,  with    emphasis. 

I  never  was  more  surprised  in  my  life,  for  I  had 
always  thought  that  if  any  one  ever  had  a  vocation 
it  was  Amice  Crocker. 

"  The  life  is  so  narrow  !"  she  continued,  with 
vehemence,  pulling  so  impatiently  at  her  rose- 
mary that  she  scratched  her  fingers.  "  Just  look 
at  the  most  of  our  sisters." 

"Well,  what  of  them?"  I  asked.  "They  are 
very  well,  I  am  sure.  "Sister  Catherine  is  rather 
prying  and  meddling,  and  Sister  Bridget  is  silly, 
and  a  good  many  of  them  are  rather  fond  of  good 
eating,  and  of  gossip,  but  they  are  kindly  souls, 
after  all.  And  where  will  you  find  better  women 
than  dear  Mother  Superior,  or  Mother  Gertrude, 
or  a  pleasanter  companion  than  Mother  Mary 
Monica,  when  she  is  in  the  mood  of  telling  her  old 
tales  ?" 

"  That  may  be  all  so,  but  what  does  it  amount 
to,  after  all  ?"  said  Amice.  "Look  at  that  same 
Mother  Mary  Monica.  She  has  been  a  nun  in  this 
and  the  other  house  sixty  years,  and  what  have 
those  sixty  years  brought  to  pass  ?  What  has 
she  to  show  for  them  ?" 

"Well,  a  good  deal  of  embroidery,"  said  I,  con- 
sidering. "She  worked  that  superb  altar  cloth, 
and  those  copes  that  we  use  still  on  grand  occa- 
sions, and  she  has  made  hundreds  of  pounds  of 
sweetmeats,  and  gallons  on  gallons  of  cordials," 


46  Lady  Rosamond's  Booh. 

"  And  the  sweetmeats  are  eaten,  and  the  cor- 
dials drank,  and  in  a  few  years  the  embroidery — 
what  remains  of  it — will  be  rags  and  dust  !  Old 
Dame  Lee  in  the  village  hasten  sons,  and  I  know 
not  how  many  grandsons  and  daughters,  all  good 
and  useful  folk." 

"  And  Roger  Smith  has  a  dozen  children,  each 
one  more  useless  and  idle  than  the  other,"  said  I. 

"  I  can't  endure  the  thought  of  such  a  life," 
continued  Amice.  "  It  sickens  me — it  frightens 
me.  I  would  not  be  a  religious  unless  I  could  be 
a  great  saint,  like  St.  Clare  or  St.  Catherine." 

"  Why  don't  you,  then  ?"  I  asked.  She  looked 
strangely  at  me,  methought,  but  made  no  reply, 
and  Mother  Gertrude  calling  us,  we  talked  no 
more  at  that  time.  But  I  have  been  considering 
the  matter,  and  I  can't  but  think  Amice  was 
wrong.  I  have  seen  more  of  home  life  than  she, 
and  I  know  that  of  very  necessity  a  great  part  of 
any  woman's  life — yea,  and  of  almost  any  man's — 
must  needs  be  spent  in  doing  the  same  things  over 
and  over  again  ;  in  making  garments  to  be  worn 
out,  and  preparing  food  to  be  eaten,  and  hushing 
children,  and  ordering  the  household.  All  these 
things  have  to  be  done,  or  there  would  be  no 
such  thing  as  family  life — nay,  there  could  be  no 
convent  life — and  so  long  as  they  are  necessary, 
I  think  there  must  be  some  way  of  hallowing  them 
And  making  them  acceptable  offerings  to  Heaven, 
as  well  as  prayers,  and  watching,  and  penance, 
I  mean  to  ask  Mother  Gertrude, 


CHAPTER   V. 


Eve  of  St.  John,  May  5th. 
ATHER  FABIAN  has  set  me  to  work, 
as  he  promised,  and  I  like  my  task  very 
much.  I  am  translating  into  English 
the  work  of  a  German  monk  named 
Thomas  a  Kempis.  The  piece  is  called,  "  The 
Imitation  of  Christ,"  and  is,  of  course,  of  a  relig- 
ious character,  and  is  so  good,  so  spiritual,  and 
yet  so  plain  in  its  teaching,  as  I  think,  nothing 
could  be  better,  unless  it  were  the  Holy  Gospel 
itself.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,  and  I  go  on 
but  slowly,  for  I  am  desirous  of  doing  my  very 
best  therein  ;  and  besides  I  am  often  impelled  to 
stop  and  meditate  on  what  I  am  writing.  Besides 
this,  Mother  Superior  has  made  me  librarian,  and 
I  am  to  keep  all  the  books  in  order—  no  very  hard 
task,  methinks,  when  nobody  ever  touches  them 
but  Amice  and  myself. 

Amice  still  studies  the  lives  of  the  Saints  as  dili- 
gently as  ever.  I  know  not  what  has  come  over 
her,  but  she  seems  very  much  changed  the  last 
few  days.  She  is  silent  and  reserved,  spends  as 
much  of  l>er  time  alone  as  she  possibly  can,  eat? 


+8  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

hardly  anything,  and  only  of  the  plainest  and 
coarsest  food.  She  has  always  been  very  open 
with  me,  but  now  even  when  we  are  together 
she  says  hardly  a  word.  I  think  I  will  ask  her 
what  is  the  matter.  Maybe  I  have  offended  her 
in  some  way,  though  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how. 

This  afternoon  I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  a 
visit  from  my  father,  who  came  to  consult  Father 
Fabian  on  the  matter  of  a  priest  for  the  chantry 
he  means  to  build.  He  looks  worn  and  thin,  but 
says  he  is  well,  as  are  all  at  home.  Alice's  babe 
is  a  fine  boy,  at  which  they  are  all  much  pleased, 
all  the  Fultons  of  the  second  generation  so  far 
being  maidens.  Alice  herself  is  well  and  happy, 
and  sends  me  her  love  and  a  tiny  curl  of  her  boy's 
hair,  of  which  he  has  a  plenty. 

"  So  he  is  dark,"  said  I,  looking  at  the  pretty 
tress. 

"  Aye,  black  as  a  Corby,"  answered  my  father, 
smiling  more  like  himself,  than  I  have  seen  him 
in  a  long  time.     Tis  a  true  Corbet  brat." 

"  And  yourself,  dear  father,  are  you  quite  well  ?" 
I  ventured  to  ask. 

"  Yes,  child,  well  and  over  well,"  he  answered, 
somewhat  peevishly,  "  if  this  journey  to  London 
does  not  kill  me  !" 

"  To  London  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  Dear  father, 
what  can  take  you  to  London  ?" 

"  Even  that  same  need  which  makes  the  old 
wife  to  trot,  chick  !  I  must  see  my  Lord  before 
he  goes  abroad,  concerning  certain  leases  and  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         fp 

like.  It  is  through  no  good  will  of  mine,  I  prom  • 
ise  thee,  for  I  was  never  fond  either  of  Court  or 
city  in  my  best  days,  and  now —  But  how  goes 
it  with  you,  child  ?"  -he  asked,  interrupting  him- 
self.    "  Methinks  you  are  thin  and  pale." 

I  told  him  of  my  cold,  and  how  I  had  taken  it. 
I  could  see  he  was  pleased,  though  he  bade  me 
be  careful  of  my  health. 

"I  would  watch  a  dozen  nights  myself  in  the 
darkest  vault  under  the  church  if  it  would  do  her 
any  good  !"  he  muttered,  with  so  sad  a  look  and 
such  a  deep  sigh,  that  I  was  compelled  to  speak 
and  tell  him  how  I  had  been  comforted  concern- 
ing my  mother.  He  listened  in  silence,  and 
dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  when  I  had  done. 

"  I  would — I  would  I  could  think  so,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  to  die  without  the  sacraments — and  I  was 
the  tempter  to  lead  her  from  her  vocation.  But, 
take  comfort,  child,  if  thou  canst.  It  may  be 
thou  art  right,  after  all." 

"  I  feel  sure  of  it,"  said  I  ;  and  then  I  reminded 
him  how  devout  and  humble  dear  mother  was — 
how  careful  of  all  those  under  her  government, 
and  how  exact  in  training  them  to  ways  of  devo- 
tion and  truth  ;  and  I  repeated  to  him  sundry 
verses  of  the  Psalms,  on  which  I  had  been  think- 
ing a  great  deal  of  late. 

"  Well,  well,  you  seem  to  have  thought  to 
good  purpose,"  said  he,  at  last.  "  Master  Ellen- 
wood,  at  least,  would  hold  with  you.  He  is  all 
fpr  making  of  my  chantry  a  school  for  the  voun^ 


jo  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

maids  of  the  village,  where  they  may  learn  to 
spin  and  sew,  and  say  their  prayers,  and  even  to 
read.  He  says  it  would  be  a  better  offering  to 
your  mother's  memory  than  a  useless  chapel  and 
a  lazy  fat  priest,  such  as  these  chantry  clerks 
often  grow  to  be." 

u  I  am  sure  mother  would  be  pleased,"  said  I. 
"  You  know  she  always  did  favor  the  notion  of  a 
school." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  answered  my 
father,  ruminating  in  silence  a  minute.  "  Well, 
child,  I  must  needs  go  on  my  way.  Hast  no 
word  for  my  Lord  and  poor  Dick,  who  goes  with 
him  to  France  ?" 

I  sent  my  humble  duty  to  my  Lord,  and  with 
Mother  Superior's  permission,  a  little  book  of 
prayers  to  Dick,  who  I  know  neglects  his  devo- 
tions sometimes.  I  think  he  will  use  the  book 
for  my  sake.  Dear  father  bestowed  on  me  his 
blessing,  and  a  beautiful  gold  and  ebony  rosary, 
which  had  once  been  mother's,  and  then  rode 
away.  I  wondered  when  I  should  see  him  again. 
It  is  a  very  long  and  not  very  safe  journey  to 
London  from  these  parts. 

I  showed  Mother  Superior  my  rosary,  and  the 
little  lock  of  baby's  hair.  She  looked  long  at 
the  beads,  and  returned  them  to  me  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  remember  them  well,"  said  she.  "  They 
came  from  Rome,  and  have  the  blessing  of  our 
Holy  Father  the  Pope.  Did  your  mother  use 
them?" 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.        $t 

"  Not  often,  as  I  think,"  I  answered.  "  She 
liked  better  a  string  of  beads  of  carved  wood, 
which  she  said  my  father  brought  her  from  the 
East  country  before  she  was  married." 

"  Olive  wood,  belike,"  said  Mother,  u  though  I 
fear  'twas  your  father's  giving  them  which  made 
them  precious.  Your  mother's  strong  and  warm 
natural  affections  were  a  snare  to  her,  my  child. 
See  that  they  be  not  so  to  you,  for  you  are  as 
like  her  as  one  pea  is  to  another." 

"  But  was  it  not  mother's  duty  to  love  my 
father,  since  she  was  his  wife  ?"  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

" Surely,  child!  Tis  the  duty  of  all  wives. 
The  trouble  was  in  her  being  a  wife  at  all,  since 
she  forsook  a  higher  vocation  to  become  one. 
Nobody  can  deny  that  the  vocation  of  a  religious 
is  far  higher  than  that  of  a  wife." 

"  But  if  there  were  no  wives  there  would  by 
and  by  be  no  religious,"  said  I ;  whereat  dear  Mo- 
ther smiled  and  patted  my  cheek,  telling  me  that 
my  tongue  ran  too  fast  and  far  for  a  good  novice, 
and  that  she  must  find  means  to  tame  it.  How- 
ever, I  do  not  think  she  was  angry.  Sister 
Frances  says  that  everything  I  do  is  right  be- 
cause I  do  it,  and  that  I  am  the  favorite  both 
with  Mother  Superior  and  Mother  Gertrude.  If 
I  am — which  I  don't  believe,  because  I  think 
both  the  dear  Mothers  mean  to  be  just  to  all — I 
am  sure  I  shall  never  take  any  advantage  of 
their  kindness. 


$&  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  ofy 

When  I  got  a  chance  I  showed  my  treas.nes 
to  Amice. 

"  You  wont  keep  them,  will  you  ?"  asked 
Amice. 

M  Keep  them  !  Of  course  I  shall  !"  I  answered, 
rather  indignantly,  I  am  afraid.  What  would 
you  have  me  do  with  my  dear  mother's  rosary 
and  the  baby's  curl  ?" 

"  '  A  good  religious  will  have  nothing  which 
she  calls  her  own,' "  said  Amice,  as  if  quoting 
something.  "  She  will  strive  for  perfection,  and 
to  acquire  that  she  must  be  wholly  detached  from 
all  human  affections,  so  that  mother  or  child, 
husband  or  brother,  shall  be  no  more  to  her  than 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Are  we  not  expressly  told 
in  the  lives  of  the  Saints  that  St.  Francis  disre- 
garded the  remonstrances  and  the  curses  of  his 
father,  and  that  even  the  tears  and  prayers  of  his 
mother  were  nothing  to  him  ?  Did  not  St.  Clare, 
our  blessed  founder,  fly  from  her  father's  house  at 
midnight,  and  by  the  advice  of  St.  Francis  him- 
self, conceal  the  step  she  was  about  to  take  from 
her  father  and  mother,  and  did  not  St.  Agnes 
herself  shortly  do  the  same,  and  absolutely  refuse 
to  return,  though  she  was  but  fourteen  years 
old  ?" 

u  But  Amice,  Master  Ellenwood  told  me  him- 
self, that,  '  Honor  thy  father  and  mother,'  is  one 
of  the  chief  commandments,"  I  objected.  "And 
besides  I  am  not  yet  a   religious." 

*  But  you  mean  to  be — you  have  promised  to 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         jj 

be  one,"  answered  Amice.  "  I  don't  know  about 
the  commandments,  but  I  do  know  that  our 
order  is  specially  dedicated  to  holy  poverty,  and 
you  cannot  embrace  that,  and  call  anything  your 
own — not  so  much  as  your  rosary  or  the  clothes 
you  wear.  I  think  you  should  burn  this  hair,  and 
offer  the  rosary  on  the  shrine  of  our  Lady,  in  the 
garden." 

"  I  will  ask  Mother  Gertrude  about  it,"  said  I  ; 
and  the  good  Mother  entering  at  that  moment,  I 
laid  the  case  before  her.  She  smiled  rather  sadly, 
methought,  and  looked  lovingly  at  the  little  curl 
of  baby  hair,  as  it  lay  on  her  hand. 

"  So  you  think  it  is  not  right  for  you  to  keep 
these  things  ?"  said  she. 

"  Not  I,  but  Amice,"  I  answered.  "  She  says  it 
is  not  consistent  with  holy  poverty." 

"  And  dost  think,  child,  it  is  very  consistent 
with  holy  humility,  or  holy  obedience  either,  for 
thee  to  be  giving  spiritual  council  or  direction  to 
thy  sister  ?"  asked  Mother  Gertrude,  turning 
somewhat  sharply  to  Amice,  who  colored,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  I  don't  think  Amice  was  in  fault,  Mother,"  I 
ventured  to  say,  for  I  thought  she  was  hard  upon 
Amice.    "  She  only  told  me  what  she  thought." 

"  Well,  well,  maybe  not,"  answered  the  old  nun, 
relenting  as  she  ever  does  after  the  first  sharp 
word  ;  "  I  did  not  mean  to  chide,  but  I  am  put 
past  my  patience  with  meddling  and  tattling,  and 
what  not.     As  to  the  rosary,  you  had  better  ask 


5-£  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  o)\ 

Father  Fabian,  or  Mother  Superior.  Come,  chil- 
dren, you  should  be  at  your  work,  and  not  idling 
here.  I  wish,  Rosamond,  that  Father  Fabian  had 
found  some  one  else  to  copy  his  precious  manu- 
scripts. I  want  you  to  help  about  ordering  the 
patterns  for  the  new  copes,  and  mending  the 
altar  linen.  There  is  nobody  in  the  house  can 
equal  you  in  a  pattern  or  a  darn,  save  Mother  Mary 
Monica,  and  her  eyes  and  hands  are  both  too  far 
gone,  for  such  work." 

"  Cannot  I  help  you,  Mother  ?"  said  Amice,  with 
an  evident  effort. 

"  You  !  No,  child,  thank  you  all  the  same,  not 
till  you  learn  the  use  of  your  fingers  better  than 
you  have  it  now." 

Amice  colored,  but  answered  not  a  word. 

"  But,  dear  Mother,  I  dare  say  the  manuscript 
can  wait,"  said  I.  "  There  is  no  hurry,  I  know, 
for  Father  Fabian  told  me  I  might  take  my  time 
about  it,  and  I  can  do  it  at  one  time  as  well  as 
another,  even  by  lamplight ;  when  I  cannot  work, 
I  can  help  about  the  copes,  part  of  the  day,  or 
until  they  are  finished. 

"  That's  my  good  child,"  said  she.  "  Well, 
come  down  to  the  sacristy  in  about  half  an 
hour,  and  we  will  get  them  all  out,  and  consider 
them.  We  want  to  have  everything  in  apple-pie 
order,  you  see ;"  and  the  good  Mother  bustled 
away. 

"So  I  must  leave  my  writing  and  go  to  work- 
ing, it  seems."  said  I,  rather  pettishly,  I  fear    for 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         55 

I  do  love  my  translating,  and  1  am  not  devoted 
to  cut  work  and  darning,  though,  thanks  to  dear 
Mother,  I  rather  excel  in  both  these  arts.  "  How- 
ever, 'tis  to  please  Mother  Gertrude,  and  'tis  all 
in  the  day's  work.  But  what  is  the  matter. 
Amice?"  I  added,  seeing  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
"surely  you  need  not  think  so  much  of  a  word 
from  Mother  Gertrude.     You  know  'tis  her  way  ?" 

11 1  know  it,"  answered  Amice.  "  I  ought  to 
have  knelt  at  her  feet  and  thanked  her  for  her  re- 
proof, instead  of  feeling  hurt.  I  have  lost  a 
chance  for  exercising  holy  humility.  I  can  go 
down  to  the  sacristy  and  do  it  when  you  meet 
her  there." 

"  I'll  tell  you  a  better  way,"  said  I.  "  Get  a 
piece  of  linen  and  set  yourself  to  work  in  earnest 
to  practise  the  stitches,  so  that  you  can  help  her 
another  time  ;  for  you  know,  dear,  you  really 
don't  work  very  neatly,  because  you  won't  keep 
your  mind  on  your  work.  You  are  always  wool- 
gathering— maybe  I  should  say  meditating — 
about  something  else.  Come  now,  that  will  be 
the  best  way.  I  am  sure  Mother  will  be  willing 
to  have  me  teach  you,  or  to  show  you  herself." 

"  Thank  you,  sister  Rosamond  ;  but  really 
I  don't  perceive  such  a  great  difference  between 
our  work  as  you  do  !"  said  Amice,  coldly  ;  "  it 
will  be  time  to  come  to  the  sacristy  when  I  am 
asked." 

*'  Just  as  you  please,"  said  I,  rather  vexed.  "  I 
thought  you  wished  a  chance  for  holy  humility, 


$6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book 

that's  all."  And  I  came  away  without  another 
word,  and  went  down  to  the  sacristy,  where 
Mother  Gertrude  and  the  Sacristine  had  all  the 
vestments  spread  out  in  great  array.  There  was 
one  old  cambric  cope  done  in  cut-work  so  fine 
as  to  resemble  lace,  but  so  worn  and  decayed 
that  it  fairly  broke  with  its  own  weight. 

"  What  a  pity  !"  said  the  Sacristine.  "  Do  you 
think  you  could  mend  it,  Rosamond  ?  There  is 
not  such  another — no,  not  at  Glastonbury  itself, 
Father  Fabian  says." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  can  be  mended  !"  said  I,  con- 
sidering it.  "  You  see  the  fabric  is  so  old  there 
is  nothing  to  hold  the  darning  thread.  But  if  I 
had  a  piece  of  fine  cambric,  I  think  I  can  work 
another  like  it.  At  any  rate,  I  can  try  ;  and  if  I 
don't  succeed,  there  will  be  no  great  harm  done." 

The  Mothers  were  both  pleased,  and  Mother 
Superior  coming  in,  the  matter  was  laid  before 
her. 

rt  Can  you  accomplish  it,  daughter  ?"  she  asked. 
"  This  is  a  very  curious  piece  of  work." 

"  I  can  try  !"  said  I.  'Tf  I  fail,  there  will  be 
no  great  loss." 

"  True,  my  child,  but  your  translation  ?" 

"  Oh,  Father  Fabian  will  excuse  me,  or  I  can 
work  at  it  a  part  of  the  time.  Perhaps  that  will 
be  the  best  way  !" 

So  it  was  settled,  and  Mother  Superior  said  she 
would  send  directly  and  procure  the  cambric  and 
thread. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


May  15th. 
HAVE  drawn  my  patterns  and  made 
a  beginning,  after  practising  the  lace 
stitches  on  something  else,  and  am  really 
succeeding  very  well.  I  take  two  hours 
a  day  for  that  and  two  for  my  translation.  I  did 
not  mean  to  have  my  work  seen  till  I  found  out 
whether  it  were  like  to  turn  out  well,  but  Mother 
Sacristine  was  so  pleased,  she  must  needs  publish 
the  matter.  I  can  see  plainly  that  some  of  the 
Sisters  are  not  pleased  at  all ;  indeed  Sister 
Catherine  said  plainly  'twas  not  fit  such  an 
honor  should  be  laid  on  the  youngest  person  in 
the  house,  and  not  even  one  of  the  professed. 

I  am  sure  I  never  thought  of  its  being  such  a 
great  honor — only  that  it  pleases  the  dear  Mo- 
thers, I  would  much  rather  work  at  my  transla- 
tion or  make  baby  clothes  for  the  women  in  the 
village.  I  can't  help  thinking  too  (though  per- 
haps I  ought  not  to  write  it),  that  our  Lord  Him- 
self would  be  quite  as  well  pleased  to  have  my 
skill  employed  in  clothing  the  naked  little  ones 
baptized  in  His  name,  as  to  have  it  used  to  add 


}8  Lady  Rosamond *s  Book  ;  or, 

one  ir.ore  piece  of  finery  to  the  twenty-five  costly 
copes,  and  other  vestments  in  proportion,  in 
which  our  house  takes  so  much  pride.  But  these 
are  matters  too  high  for  me  to  judge,  and  I  know 
He  will  approve  of  my  obeying  and  striving  to 
please  those  whom  He  hath  set  in  place  of  parents 
to  me. 

It  has,  somehow,  leaked* out — I  can't  guess 
how,  unless  by  means  of  some  eavesdropper — 
that  I  sent  a  book  to  my  cousin,  when  my  father 
was  here  ;  and  Sister  Catherine  has  taken  me 
severely  to  task  therefor.  I  told  her  that 
Richard  was  my  cousin,  and  that  I  had  Mother 
Superior's  leave. 

"  Pretty  discipline  —  pretty  discipline  1"  she 
muttered.  "  Sending  love  tokens  from  a  religious 
house.  Well,  well,  we  shall  see.  As  for  you, 
Mistress  Rosamond,  you  are  high  in  favor  just 
now,  and  all  you  do  is  well,  because,  forsooth, 
you  have  a  cunning  hand  with  the  needle,  and 
can  skill  to  read  Latin  ;  but  have  a  care !  Fa- 
vorites are  not  long  lived,  and  pride  may  have  a 
fell  I" 

I  made  her  no  answer,  and  so  she  left  me. 

Eve  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  June  23rd. 
We  have  been  mighty  busy  all  day  preparing 
for  the  feast  to-morrow.  We  are  to  have  high 
mass,  and  the  celebrant  is  none  other  than  my 
Lord  Bishop  himself,  who  thus  honors  our  poor 
family.     He  has  been  here  to-day,  and  has  had 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles. 


59 


long  conference  with  Mother  Superior,  Father 
Fabian  and  the  other  elders.  I  fancy  the  two 
first  wear  a  shade  of  care,  and  even  the  Bishop 
does  not  look  as  easy  and  merry  as  when  I  have 
seen  him  before. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


3  ggu 

St.  John  Baptist's  Day,  June  24. 
O  my  great  surprise,  I  myself  was  sum- 
moned  to   the    Bishop's    presence   last 
evening      He   was   sitting   in   a   great 
chair  in    the  parlor,  and   received    me 
graciously  and  kindly. 

"Be  not  alarmed,  my  daughter,"  said  he,  see- 
ing that  I  trembled,  for  indeed  I  was  frightened, 
not  knowing  what  to  think  or  expect.  "  I  only 
wish  to  ask  you  a  few  questions.  I  dare  say  theie 
is  nothing  wrong." 

And  then  to  my  surprise  he  began  questioning 
me  about  my  father's  visit,  and  the  motives  which 
had  led  me  to  the  convent.  I  told  him  all,  not 
knowing  any  reasons  for  concealment.  Then  he 
asked  me  whether  I  had  seen  my  cousin  since  I 
left  home.  Very  much  surprised,  I  answered, 
11  No,  my  Lord,  I  have  had  no  chance  to  see  him. 
He  hath  been  in  London,  with  my  Lord,  his 
uncle,  and  I  have  not  stirred  outside  these  walls 
since  I  came  hither." 

"And  you  have  held  no  communication  with 
him  by  letter  or  otherwise  ?"  aslyed  the  Bishop. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         6/ 

I  told  him  how  I  had  sent  him  a  book  of  pr.  yers 
by  my  father,  with  Mother  Superior's  approbation. 

"  And  did  he  send  nothing  to  you — no  lock  of 
hair  or  other  love  token  ?" 

I  was  vexed  enough,  but  I  could  not  forbear  a 
smile.  "  My  Lord,"  said  I,  "my  father  did  as- 
suredly bring  me  a  lock  of  hair,  taken  from  the 
head  of  a  very  young  gentleman,  which  I  will 
show  you."  And  I  took  from  my  pocket  my  little 
Latin  Psalter  and  showed  him  the  babe's  little 
curl  fastened  to  one  of  the  blank  leaves.  My 
Lord  looked  at  it  and  smiled  also. 

"A  very  young  gentleman  indeed,  I  should 
say,"  he  remarked.  "  Surely,  it  is  the  hair  of  a 
young  infant." 

M  Yes,  my  Lord,  of  my  sister's  first  child,  about 
six  weeks  old.  She  sent  it  me  by  my  father,  and 
I  thought  no  harm  in  keeping  it." 

"  And  was  there  naught  else  ?" 

"  Truly,  my  mother's  rosary,"  I  answered  ;  and 
then  seeing  his  manner  so  kind,  I  ventured  to  ask 
him  if  there  was  anything  wrong  in  my  keeping 
and  using  it.  He  told  me  "none  at  all,  but 
that  I  should  strive  to  disengage  my  heart 
from  earthly  affections,  as  became  a  good  reli- 
gious." 

Then  he  questioned  me  about  my  vigil  in  the 
Chapel  and  my  motives  therefor,  to  all  of 
which  I  returned  him  clear  and  plain  answers, 
having  naught  to  conceal.  Finally  he  asked  me 
14  whether  I  thought  I  had  a  true  vocation  F 


62  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  Do  not  be  fluttered,"  said  he,  kindly.  "  Take 
time,  and  tell  me  what  you  think." 

I  told  him  I  did  not  know  how  to  answer,  be- 
cause I  had  never  fairly  considered  the  subject. 
I  had  been  brought  up  to  think  of  the  convent  as 
my  home,  and  most  of  my  life  had  been  passed 
within  its  walls.  I  had  promised  my  mother  to 
become  a  nun,  and  I  meant  to  keep  my  word,  and 
to  do  my  duty  as  well  as  I  could  ;  but  I  could  not 
pretend  to  say  that  I  felt  or  ever  had  felt  any 
such  strong  drawing  toward  the  cloister  as  some 
of  the  other  Sisters  professed,  and  as  I  had  read 
of  in  the  lives  of  the  Saints. 

"  Well,  well !  That  will  perhaps  come,"  said 
my  Lord,  kindly.  "  Meantime,  daughter,  I  am 
pleased  with  your  frankness,  and  the  simplicity 
with  which  you  have  answered  my  questions. 
Father  Fabian  and  the  Superior  both  speak  well 
of  you,  and  I  doubt  not  you  will  be  a  credit  to 
this  house  and  to  your  order  ;  specially  if  you  use 
your  knowledge  as  you  have  begun.  See,  I  am 
going  to  give  you  this  reliquary  as  a  remem- 
brance, and  to  increase  your  devotion.  It 
contains  a  small  fragment  of  the  true  cross,  and 
once  belonged  to  a  very  holy  Abbess,  who  un- 
derstood the  Latin  tongue  as  well  as  yourself,  or 
perhaps  better.  But,  my  child,  do  not  you  let 
your  gifts  puff  you  up  or  lead  you  to  look  down 
on  others.  Any  one  who  uses  knowledge  in  that 
way  had  far  better  be  without  it.  Remember 
that  you  have  nothing  which  you  did  not  receive, 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         6j 

and  that  any  gifts  you  have  belong  not  to  your- 
self to  serve  or  exalt  yourself  withal,  but  to  your 
God  and  your  order." 

And  with  that,  he  gave  me  his  blessing  in  the 
kindest  manner,  and  dismissed  me,  well  pleased 
with  the  interview.  It  is  very  odd  that  he 
should  have  asked  me  such  questions,  however. 
As  if  I  would  send  love  tokens  to  any  one,  let 
alone  poor  Dick,  with  whom  I  have  played  all 
my  life. 

As  I  came  out  from  the  parlor  into  the  passage, 
and  from  thence  to  the  cloister  door,  I  saw  Sister 
Catherine  and  Sister  Mary  Paula  whispering  to- 
gether. They  stopped  talking  when  I  came  out, 
and  looked  eagerly  towards  me. 

"  So  you  have  been  confessing  to  the  Bishop  ?" 
says  Sister  Mary  Paula. 

"Not  exactly  confessing  !"  said  I.  "  My  Lord 
did  me  the  honor  to  send  for  me,  and  asked  me 
some  questions.  He  has  been  very  kind,  and  has 
given  me  a  precious  relic."  And  I  showed  them 
the  reliquary.  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  Sister  Catherine  looked  positively 
disappointed. 

"  That's  the  way  things  go  in  this  world  !"  said 
Sister  Mary  Paula.  "I  have  been  in  this  house 
twelve  years,  and  nobody  can  say  I  ever  missed 
a  fast  or  a  service,  and  yet  nobody  gives  me  a 
relic  or  takes  any  notice  of  me,  or  puts  me  into 
any  office.  Well,  well,  'kissing  goes  by  favor,'  is 
an  old  saying,  as  true  here  as  anywhere  else  !" 


64  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or> 

"You  ought  to  be  thankful,  Sister,  that  you 
have  such  humiliations  put  upon  you,"  answered 
Sister  Catherine.  "  You  know  nothing  is  so  pre- 
cious as  humility.  Come,  let  us  go  to  our  duty, 
dear  Sister,  and  be  thankful  that  we  dwell  in  the 
dust  and  are  trampled  on  b)'  the  foot  of  pride. 
Tis  a  far  safer  and  more  blessed  place,  and  we 
ought  to  rejoice  to  be  despised." 

With  that,  before  I  could  hinder,  she  knelt 
down  and  kissed  my  feet,  and  walked  away, 
looking,  I  am  sure,  anything  but  humble.  I 
don't  see  either  why  one  should  rejoice  in  being 
despised,  since  'tis  a  wicked  thing  to  despise 
people. 

I  heard  Sister  Catherine  summoned  to  the 
parlor,  as  were  several  other  Sisters,  and  Mother 
Gertrude  as  well.  This  morning  his  Lordship 
called  the  whole  family  together,  and  made  them 
one  of  the  very  best  discourses  I  ever  heard  in 
all  my  life.  I  wish  I  could  hear  such  an  one 
every  day.  I  am  sure  I  should  be  the  better. 
He  began  by  commending  highly  the  order  and 
neatness  of  the  house,  the  garden,  and  specially 
the  library  and  sacristy.  Then  he  said  he  had 
discovered  some  things  which  gave  him  pain,  and 
of  which  he  must  needs  speak.  Here  I  saw 
Sister  Catherine  and  Sister  Mary  Paula  exchange 
glances.  He  went  on  to  remark  that  he  had 
discovered  a  spirit  of  jealousy  and  detraction,  of 
fault-finding  and  tattling,  which  ought  to  exist  in 
no  family,  least  of  all  in  a  religious  house,  and 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         6$ 

one  specially  vowed  to  holy  poverty,  as  we  were. 
Then  warming  up — 

"  One  would  think,  my  children,  that  you 
should  rejoice  in  each  other's  gifts  and  achiev- 
ments.  Instead  thereof  I  find  murmurs  and 
complaints  one  of  another,  as  if  one  Sister  were 
injured  because  another  is  chosen  to  execute 
some  special  office  or  piece  of  work  to  which  she 
is  judged  specially  fitted.  Sisters  should  be  more 
ready  to  hide  each  other's  faults  than  to  betray 
them  ;  but  here  a  perfectly  harmless  and  even 
religious  act  is  reported  to  me  as  a  flagrant 
breach  of  discipline." 

Here  again  I  saw  an  exchange  of  glances, 
quite  of  another  kind. 

"Ah,  my  daughters  (the  Bishop  went  on  to 
say,  as  near  as  I  can  remember),  these  things 
ought  not  to  be.  Believe  me,  it  is  not  the  coarse 
habit,  nor  the  sandals,  nor  the  veils — no,  nor  the 
seclusion,  nor  the  enclosure,  nor  even  the  watch- 
ings,  and  fastings,  and  many  prayers,  which 
make  a  true  religious.  All  these  things  are  good 
and  holy,  when  well  used  ;  but  they  may  all 
exist  in  company  with  many  things  utterly  hate- 
ful to  God  and  our  blessed  Lady.  Let  me  show 
you  in  what  true  charity  consisteth." 

Then  he  repeated  a  description  of  charity  so 
noble,  so  full,  that  methinks  all  Christian  per- 
fection was  contained  therein — as  how  a  man 
might  give  all  his  goods  in  alms,  and  perform 
miracles,  and  even  become  *   martyr,  and  yet  be 


66  Lady  Rosamond s  Book;  or, 

nothing  better  than  a  bit  of  sounding  brass 
Then  showing  what  made  true  charity — even 
kindness,  and  patience,  and  gentleness,  and 
humbleness,  and  thinking  no  evil,  but  hoping  and 
believing  the  best  at  all  times. 

[ '  Twas  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  St.  Paul,  his 
first  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  which  he  recited, 
but  7,  who  had  never  seen  a  New  Testament  at  that 
time,  did  not  know  #/.] 

Then  with  a  deep  shade  of  sadness  on  his  kind 
old  face,  such  as  I  never  saw  before,  he  besought 
us  to  dwell  in  unity  and  love,  that  our  prayers  be 
not  hindered,  but  that  we  might  strive  together 
for  our  house,  our  order,  and  the  whole  Church. 
He  said  we  had  fallen  on  evil  times,  and  there 
was  no  telling  what  might  happen  ;  and  he 
advised  a  special  devotion  to  our  Lady  and  our 
blessed  founder,  for  the  averting  of  judgments 
which  even  now  threatened  us  ;  and  so  at  last 
dismissed  us  with  his  blessing.  I  am  sure  I  shall 
remember  the  discourse  as  long  as  I  live,  and  1 
hope  I  shall  be  the  better  for  it.  I  know  very 
well  I  am  altogether  too  prone  to  judge  and  to 
impute  evil,  or  at  the  least  foolish  motives  to 
good  actions,  and  specially  to  judge  hardly  of 
those  who  in  any  way  offend  my  taste. 

[  /  know  now,  what  I  did  not  then,  that  our 
house  was  threatened  with  total  destruction.    Not 


'Die  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         6j 

long  before  Cardinal  Wolsey  had  founded  his 
college  at  Oxford,  and  he  had  obtained  a  bull  from 
the  Pope  f  of  suppressing  some  thirty  of  the  small 
religious  houses  and  to  endow  his  said  college  with 
their  revenues  ;  and  now  there  was  talk  of  another 
suppression.  We  have  in  our  West  country  a  pithy 
proverb  about  showing  the  cat  the  way  to  the  cream, 
which  his  Eminence  might  have  remembered,  if  he 
ever  chanced  to  hear  it!\ 

After  mass  and  sermon,  it  being  a  great  feast 
day,  we  had  a  better  dinner  than  ordinary,  with 
abundance  of  sweetmeats  and  cakes,  and  recrea- 
tion all  the  afternoon  till  vespers,  for  which  I  was 
very  glad.  I  was  cheered  by  the  Bishop's  dis- 
course, and  yet  humbled  by  it,  and  I  wanted 
time  to  think  it  over  :  so  I  slipped  away  from 
the  rest,  and  with  a  garment  I  was  making  for 
Mary  Dean's  babe,  betook  myself  to  the  garden 
chapel,  where,  having  first  said  my  prayers  before 
the  shrine,  I  sat  down  on  a  low  and  roughly 
hewn  stone  bench  outside  the  door,  and  began  to 
think  and  work  at  the  same  time.  I  know  not 
how  it  is,  but  I  can  always  meditate  to  better 
purpose  when  I  have  something  else  to  do.  In 
our  set  hours  of  meditation  I  am  always  pos- 
sessed to  think  of  any  and  everything  but  the 
subject  given  us  by  Mother  Superior.  It  is  just 
then  that  all  my  working  patterns  come  into  my 
head.  Well,  I  was  sitting  sewing  a  long  seam, 
now  working  diligently,  now  stopping  to  listen  to 


68  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

the  birds  and  watch  them  feeding  their  young 
ones  (now  fully  fledged  and  clamorously  following 
their  patient  parent  from  tree  to  tree),  v  hen 
Amice  came  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"  Methinks  you  spend  your  holiday  soberly," 
said  she,  after  a  little  silence,  "  working  away  in 
recreation  time." 

11 1  have  not  done  work  enough  to  spoil  my 
recreation,"  I  answered,  gayly,  "  but  you  know 
my  way  of  always  liking  something  in  my  hands. 
I  did  not  see  that  any  one  wanted  me,  so  I  came 
to  this  solitary  place  to  think  about  the  Bishop's 
sermon.     'Twas  a  noble  discourse,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Amice,  and  she  sighed 
deeply. 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  liked  it,"  1  said. 

"It  just  added  to  my  troubles,  like  everything 
else.  Rosamond,  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born, 
or  else  that  I  had  been  born  a.  milkmaid." 

"  I  don't  fancy  life  is  easier  to  milkmaids  than 
to  any  one  else,"  I  answered.  "  I  think  it  is  as 
easy  here  as  anywhere,  don't  you  ?" 

"  No  !"  said  she,  with  a  kind  of  vehemence.  "  J 
think  it  is  hard,  intolerable,  all  but  impossible. 
It  is  all  a  mass  of  contradictions  from  first  to  last.'" 

"  Hush,  hush  !"  I  said,  alarmed.  "  Say  what 
you  like  to  me,  but  don't  speak  so  loud.  Re- 
member what  we  heard  this  morning  about  caves- 
dropping.  I  do  wish  you  would  tell  me  what 
troubles  you  so,  dear.  Perhaps  it  would  not 
seem  so  bad,  if  vou  talked  it  over." 


TJie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         69 

She  laid  her  head  on  my  lap  and  cried  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

11 0  Rosamond,  I  shall  never  be  a  Saint — 
never  !"  said  she,  sobbing.  "  The  more  I  try  the 
worse  I  am." 

"What  now?"  said  I. 

"  You  know  how  I  have  fasted  and  prayed, 
lately,"  she  continued.  "  I  have  denied  myself 
everything — even  converse  with  you,  Rosamond. 
I  have  striven  to  put  down  all  affection  for  one 
more  than  another,  and  have  associated  with 
those  I  liked  the  least  " — 

11 1  wondered  what  made  you  so  intimate  with 
Sister  Frances,  and  Sister  Mary  Paula,  and  so 
cold  to  me,"  I  said.  "  I  was  afraid  I  had  offended 
you." 

"  I  know  you  were,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
bear  the  unjust  suspicion  and  not  justify  myself 
in  your  eyes,  as  another  means  of  humiliation.  I 
have  eaten  only  the  coarsest  food,  and  worn 
sackcloth  next  my  skin,  and  lain  all  night  upon 
the  floor — and  it  is  all — of  no  use — I  only  feel — 
just  as  cross  as  I  can  be  !"  Here  she  cried  afresh, 
and  I  soothed  her  as  well  as  I  could. 

"  I  read  in  the  life  of  St  Francis  how  the  Saint 
requested  the  bird  to  stop  singing,  and  tamed 
the  wolf,"  she  continued,  presently,  "  and  I 
thought  I  would  try  to  tame  Sultan  our  peacock  ; 
but  when  I  kindly  requested  him  to  leave  his 
corn  for  the  hens,  he  wouldn't ;  and  when  (first 
asking  the  intercession  of  St.  Francis)  I  tried  to 


Jo  Lady  Rosamond *s  Book;  of, 

induce  him  to  give  it  up  to  me — he — he  peeled 
me,"  sobbed  Amice,  with  another  burst  of  g<"ief, 
and  she  showed  me  her  hand,  all  raw  and  sore  in 
the  palm  where  the  ugly  creature  had  wounded 
her. 

"Amice,"  said  I,  when  she  was  a  little  calmer, 
"  why  don't  you  tell  all  these  things  to  Father 
Fabian  ?" 

"  I  did,  last  night,"  said  she  ;  "  and  he  told 
me  I  was  making  myself  ill  to  no  purpose,  an  .1 
that  the  exercises  appointed  were  enough  for 
me.  But  St.  Clare  and  the  other  Saints  used  a 
great  many  more  austerities  than  these." 

"  I  suppose  their  spiritual  superiors  allowed 
them,"  I  said. 

"  Then  why  can't  mine  allow  me  ?  Unless  I 
can  be  a  Saint  I  don't  care  to  be  a  religious  at 
all.  I  wish  I  could  go  somewhere  else — to  some 
of  the  strict  houses  which  Sister  Catherine  and 
Mother  Mary  Monica  tell  us  of — and  then  I 
might  have  a  chance,  perhaps." 

"  And  would  you  leave  Mother  Gertrude — the 
only  relation  you  have  in  the  world  ?"  I  asked 
her. 

"  A  religious  has  naught  to  do  with  family 
affection,  Rosamond.  Ought  I  not  to  disregard 
every  earthly  tie,  if  thereby  I  can  advance  to- 
ward holiness  ?" 

The  bell  sounded  for  vespers  just  then,  so  we 
could  talk  no  more  ;  but  I  am  very  much  puzzled. 
I  am  sure  my  father  and  my  own  relations  must 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         Jl 

always  be  more  to  me  than  any  one  else  can  be. 
It  does  not  seem  to  me  either  as  if  Amice  were 
going  to  work  in  the  right  way  to  be  a  Saint.  I 
think  a  real  Saint  would  be  the  last  person  to 
know  that  he  was  one. 

When  we  met  at  supper  Sister  Catherine  re- 
mained on  her  knees  in  a  corner  all  the  time  we 
were  eating,  and  when  we  had  finished  she  kissed 
the  feet  of  each  of  us  as  we  went  out,  and  begged 
our  pardon  for  her  many  offences. 

"  See  how  humble  dear  Sister  Catherine  is," 
said  Sister  Mary  Paula.  "She  begged  to  be  al- 
lowed to  perform  this  public  penance  because  she 
said  she  had  sinned  against  charity." 

I  suppose  it  wras  very  good  of  her,  but  I  can't 
help  thinking  it  would  have  been  more  really 
humble  if  she  had  repented  and  apologized  in 
private.  It  seems  to  me  that  such  a  show  of 
humility  might  make  one  proud  of  being  humble 
But  I  dare  say  she  is  right  and  I  am  wrong. 


CHAPTER   VIIL 


SJS^E  HAVE  heard  some  great  news  to-diy, 
'  which  is  yet  unknown  to  most  ol  the 
household,  though  they  must  gues"»,  of 
course,  that  something  is  going  to  hap- 
pen, from  seeing  the  preparations  that  are 
making.  Twas  from  no  good  will  of  mine  that  I 
knew  it  either,  for  I  hate  secrets.  After  breakfast 
Mother  Gertrude  requested  Amice  and  myself  to 
help  her  put  in  order  some  tapestry.  We  followed 
her  to  the  east  end  of  the  house,  where  are 
certain  large  apartments  which  have  never  been 
opened  in  my  time.  Mother  Gertrude  unlocked 
the  door  which  separates  them  from  the  rest  of 
,.he  house  and  threw  it  open.  The  first  room  we 
entered  was  quite  dark,  save  for  certain  rays 
which  streamed  through  small  cracks  and  cran- 
nies in  the  shutters,  and  showed  us  long  lines  of 
dust,  while  a  moldy,  close  smell  issued  from  the 
open  door. 

"  Phew  !"  exclaimed  Mother  Gertrude.  "Amice, 
child,  step  in  and  open  the  shutters." 
Amice  shrank  back  a  little. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         73 

u  Let  me  do  it,"  said  I  ;  and  without  waiting  to 
be  told,  as  I  suppose  I  should,  I  went  in,  and 
after  a  little  fumbling  succeeded  in  finding  and 
drawing  the  bolt,  and  opening  not  only  the 
shutters,  but  the  casement,  letting  in  the  sweet 
light  and  air. 

"  Suppose  we  open  all  the  casements  and  give 
the  place  a  thorough  airing,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  do,  my  child,"  answered  Mother  Gertrude. 
"Amice,  caa't  you  help  her,  and  not  leave  her  to 
break  all  hei-  finger  nails."  For  all  the  time, 
Amice  had  stood  still  at  the  door. 

"I  waited  to  be  told  what  to  do,"  answered 
Amice,  coloring  as  red  as  fire,  and  then  coming 
forward  without  auot.Ler  word,  she  began  to  help 
me  open  the  rooms.  There  were  three,  of  good 
size  and  lofty,  besides  a  closet  or  oratory  with  an 
altar  and  crucifix.  The  furniture  had  been  good, 
though  somewhat  scanty  but  it  was  battered  and 
moth-eaten,  and  the  floors  were  thick  with  dust, 
while  something  —  the  wind,  I  suppose — had 
swept  into  curious  waves  and  traces,  as  though 
somebody  had  been  pacing  back  and  forth  with  a 
long  gown  on.  I  remarked  0/1  this  appearance 
to  Amice. 

"  Aye,"  said  Mother  Gertrude,  overhearing 
me — and  looking  sadly  about  her,  "  If  a  ghost 
ever  walked —  Many  a  weary  hour  she  paced 
these  floors,  poor  thing,  softly  singing  to  herself, 
or  repeating  Psalms." 

"  Who,  dear  mother?"  I  ventured  to  ask. 


14  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  The  one  who  last  lived  here,  child.  Never 
mind,  now.  I  trust  her  soul  hath  gotten  grace  for 
all,  and  that  she  is  resting  with  the  Saints  in  Pa- 
radise. But  how  we  are  ever  going  to  make  these 
rooms  fit  for  the  Queen  and  her  family,  is  more 
than  I  can  guess. 

"  The  queen  !"  I  repeated. 

"  Aye,  child.  There,  I  have  let  the  cat  out  of 
the  bag,  but  never  mind.  You  would  have  heard 
it  before  long,  at  any  rate.  Yes,  children,  her 
Grace  being  in  these  parts,  and  having  somehow 
heard  of  the  sanctity  of  our  Lady's  shrine  in  the 
garden,  and  of  our  many  holy  relics,  has  chosen 
our  poor  house  in  which  to  make  a  retreat,  and 
she  is  coming  next  week  to  remain  a  month  with 
us." 

"  'Tis  a  great  honor  for  us,"  I  said. 

"  Why,  yes,  in  one  way  it  is,  and  yet  I  could 
have  wished  her  Grace  had  chosen  some  other 
house.  I  don't  fancy  an  inroad  of  giddy  girls 
from  the  Court,  I  must  say." 

"  The  Queen  herself  is  very  grave  and  religious, 
I  have  heard  say,"  I  remarked.  "  Maybe  hei  at- 
tendants will  not  be  so  giddy,  after  all." 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  hope  for  the  best.  Do 
you  and  Amice  set  all  these  chairs  out  into  the 
garden  to  begin  with,  and  give  them  a  good  beat- 
ing and  dusting,  and  I  will  take  order  for  the 
sweeping  and  washing  of  the  floors,  and  that 
being  in  hand,  we  will  overlook  the  tapestry  and 
see  what  can  be  done  to  mend  it." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         75 

Mother  Gertrude  was  now  in  her  element,  and 
so  I  confess  was  I,  for  I  do  love  a  housewifely 
bustle.  We  carried  all  tl  e  chairs  and  stools 
down  into  the  garden,  and  cutting  light  willow 
switches,  we  began  to  beat  the  cushions,  raising 
clouds  of  dust,  and  getting  ourselves  into  quite  a 
frolic  over  it.  In  the  midst  of  our  labors  and 
laughing,  came  along  Sister  Catherine  and  Sister 
Paula,  inseparable,  as  usual.  I  wonder,  by  the 
way,  how  Sister  Catherine  reconciles  her  intimacy 
with  the  rule  which  forbids  particular  friendships 
among  the  religious. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Sister  Catherine,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise — affected  surprise,  I  may  say — "  is  it  pos- 
sible that  this  is  our  learned  Rosamond,  acting  the 
part  of  a  housemaid  ?" 

"  Even  as  you  see,  Sister  !"  I  answered,  merrily, 
and  sending  at  the  same  time  a  cloud  of  dust  in 
her  direction  (I  fear  I  did  it  on  purpose),  which 
made  her  sneeze  and  cough  heartily. 

"Do  be  careful,  child,"  said  she,  pettishly. 
'•  You  cover  me  with  dust,  but  of  course  one  can't 
expect  learned  ladies  to  be  very  skilful  in  house- 
wifery. I  am  glad  your  superiors  at  last  see  the 
need  of  humbling  your  proud  spirits  by  setting 
you  at  a  menial  office." 

"  But,  methinks,  a  mortified  and  recollected 
demeanor  would  be  more  suitable  than  all  this 
laughter  !"  added  Sister  Mary  Paula.  "  One  would 
think  you  were  making  holiday,  instead  of  doing 
penance." 


j6  Lady  Rosa?nond,s  Book;  or, 

I  would  not  trust  my  tongue  to  answer,  but 
raised  such  a  cloud  of  dust  that  they  were  glad 
to  beat  a  retreat. 

"  Rosamond,"  said  Amice,  after  they  were 
gone,  "  do  you  really  suppose  this  work  was 
given  us  as  a  penance  and  humiliation  ?" 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "I  suppose  it  was  given 
us  because  we  are  the  youngest  iri  the  house  and 
have  little  to  do,  and  because  Mother  Gertrude 
likes  to  have  us  about  her.  Besides,  where  is 
the  mortification  ?" 

"  But  it  is  menial  work,  you  must  allow  that," 
she  insisted. 

"It  is  work  that  must  needs  be  done,  and  what 
matters  whether  it  be  menial  or  not  ?  Come,  let 
us  set  aside  these  chairs  and  bring  down  the 
rest." 

Amice  complied,  but  there  was  no  more  sport 
for  her.  She  was  plunged  at  once  into  discom- 
fort, and  began  looking  at  herself,  as  usual. 

11 1  did  not  think  I  needed  any  such  humiliation, 
but  no  doubt  Mother  knows  best,"  said  she, 
presently.  "  I  don't  think  I  put  myself  forward 
very  much." 

"  Of  course  you  don't,  and  I  have  no  notion 
that  Mother  had  any  such  matter  in  her  head," 
said  I.  "  Don't  give  it  ano  her  thought.  See 
how  oddly  the  velvet  of  this  chair  is  spotted,  as 
with  drops  of  water." 

"But  I  know  I  shall  never  be  a  Saint,"  con- 
tinued Amice,  just   glancing   at   the    chair,  but 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         77 

pursuing  her  own  thoughts,  as  usual.  "  Do  you 
know,  Rosamond,  I  was  really  afraid  to  entdF 
that  room  ?" 

"So  I  thought,  and  that  was  what  made  me 
offer.  But  Amice,  I  do  think  you  need  not  have 
answered  Mother  Gertrude  so." 

"  1  know  it,"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of  despairing 
tone.  "  O  yes  !  I  do  need  to  have  my  pride 
mortified.     But  I  shall  never  be  a  Saint,  after  all." 

"I'll  tell  you' what,  child,"  said  Mother  Ger- 
trude, who  had  come  upon  us  unawares,  in  the 
noise  we  were  making  :  "  You  are  a  deal  more 
likely  to  make  a  Saint  if  you  stop  thinking  about 
yourself  and  turning  yourself  inside  out  all  the 
time.  Saints,  daughter,  cannot  be  made,  to  my 
thinking.  You  can  make  artificial  flowers  to  look 
very  pretty  at  a  distance,  but  if  you  want  a  real 
live  plant,  with  sap,  and  leaves,  and  flowers,  and 
fruit,  you  must  needs  give  it  time  to  grow" 

Methinks  a  very  wise  saying  of  the  dear  old 
Mother's,  and  one  I  shall  lay  up. 

We  finished  dusting  the  old  chairs,  and  then 
began  to  wonder  how  we  should  make  them 
presentable,  for,  though  the  frames  were  good, 
the  covers  were  both  ragged  and  faded,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  get  them  covered  anew. 
Presently  Amice  made  a  suggestion. 

"  You  know  the  brown  Hollands,  of  which  we 
have  great  store  in  the  wardrobe.  Why  not 
make  covers  of  that,  binding  them  with  some 
bright  colors  ,?     If  they  were  nicely  laundried,  as 


/S  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

Sister  Bridget  knows  how  to  do  them,  I  think 
*hey  would  at  least  be  neat  and  pleasant." 

"  Upon  my  word,  child,  'tis  a  good  thought, 
and  well  devised  !"  said  Mother  Gertrude,  much 
pleased,  as  she  always  is  whenever  we  show  any 
cleverness.  "  We  will  try  it  on  the  withdrawing 
room,  at  any  rate  :  and  'twas  a  good  thing  to 
remember  Sister  Bridget,  too,  poor  thing,  for  she 
loves  to  be  of  service,  though  her  wits  are  small. 
I  tell  you,  children,  talking  of  saints,  that  poor 
weakly  dull  thing  is  nearer  to  real  saintship  than 
some  who  are  far  wiser,  and  think  themselves  far 
holier,  to  boot.  Rosamond,  do  you  bring  down  a 
piece  of  the  Hollands,  and  we  will  see  how  it 
looks." 

In  the  wardrobe,  chancing  to  look  out  at  the 
window,  I  saw  Amice  reading  something,  which 
presently  she  put  into  her  bosom.  Some  old 
book  of  devotion,  I  dare  say.  She  will  never 
throw  away  a  bit  of  written  or  printed  paper,  il 
she  can  help  it. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


July  14.. 
?E  have  finished  all  our  work,  though  we 
had  to  call  in  more  help.  Mother 
Gertrude  chose  Sister  Boneventure  and 
Sister  Margaret,  besides  Sister  Bridget, 
to  do  the  washing  and  ironing.  They  are  not  so 
bright  as  some,  but  they  are  good  with  the 
needle ;  and  as  Mother  says,  can  mind  what 
they  are  told  without  an  argument  about  it. 
The  apartments  are  now  all  arranged.  The 
antichamber  is  done  in  green  serge,  the  with- 
drawing room  in  red,  and  the  bed-chamber  all  in 
linen,  as  Amice  suggested.  Mother  Superior  in- 
spected the  work  this  afternoon,  and  praised  us 
for  our  diligence  and  skill. 

"  I  fear  her  Grace  will  think  them  very  plain 
and  bare  !"  said  Mother  Gertrude. 

"  Her  Grace,  Sister,  does  not  come  hither  seek- 
ing for  ease  and  luxury !"  answered  Mother 
Superior.  "  Moreover,  being  a  kind  and  gracious 
lady,  she  will  doubtless  be  satisfied  with  the  best 
we  have  to  offer.  You  have  done  well,  dear 
Sisters  and  children,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
pains." 


8o  Lady  Rosamonds  BojIc. 

"And  how  are  her  Grace's  attendants  to  be 
accommodated  ?"  asked  Mother  Gertrude. 

"She  will  bring  no  great  train — only  three 
attendants — Mistress  Patience,  her  bower-woman. 
Master  Griffith,  her  steward,  who  will,  live  with 
Father  Fabian,  and  Mistress  Anne  Bullen,  one  of 
her  ladies.  You  will  have  the  two  small  rooms 
at  this  end  of  the  gallery  prepared  for  the  ladies, 
not  changing  the  furniture,  but  laying  clean  linen 
and  mats.  A  little  hard  lodging  will  not  harm 
them  for  a  while." 

"I  trow  not !"  answered  Mother  Gertrude.  "  I 
am  glad  we  are  to  have  no  train  of  court  dames 
to  turn  our  giddy  pates,  whereof  we  have  enow  ;" 
she  added,  putting  her  hands  on  the  shoulders  of 
us  girls,  as  we  stood  near  her,  as  if  she  had  meant 
to  include  us  among  the  giddy  pates.  I  expected 
to  see  Amice  color,  as  usual,  but  she  only  smiled 
and  kissed  the  dear  wrinkled  hand.  Somehow 
she  has  been  much  more  pleasant  the  last  few 
days. 


CHAPTER  X. 


St.  Mary  Magdalene,  July  21. 
UR  great  guests  have  come,  and  are  safely 
settled,  and  her  Grace  is  pleased  tc 
approve  of  her  rooms,  specially  the  one 
furnished  with  linen.  She  asked  whose 
was  the  invention,  and  being  told  by  Mother 
Superior  that  it  was  one  of  the  pupils  (for  that 
is  the  name  we  young  ones  go  by),  she  sent  her 
her  thanks  and  a  pretty  Psalter,  as  a  token  oJ 
approbation.  I  never  was  more  delighted,  not 
only  for  the  sake  of  Amice,  who  is  far  oftener 
blamed  than  commended,  but  because  dear 
Mother  Gertrude  was  so  pleased.  One  never  can 
tell  how  Amice  will  take  anything,  she  has  so 
many  notions  ;  but  she  came  herself  and  showed 
the  book  to  me,  saying  how  glad  she  was  to 
possess  a  whole  Psalter  of  her  own. 

"  Was  it  not  kind  of  her  Grace  ?"  she  said. 
"  Indeed  it  was  !"  I  answered.     "  I  think  it  is 
always  kind  in  people  to  show  pleasure  when  one 
tries  to  please  them." 

"  I    believe   you  are    right  !"    she    said,    con- 
sidering.    "The  pot  of  ointment  St.  Mary  Mag- 


82  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

delene  gave  our  Lord  could  be  no  such  great 
gift  to  Him,  and  yet  He  showed  Himself  pleased 
with  that,  as  no  doubt  He  would  if  some  little 
child  had  given  Him  a  handful  of  shells,  or  wild 
flowers." 

Amice  has  seemed  much  pleasanter  and  happier 
these  last  days. 

The  Queen  does  indeed  look  like  a  most  gra- 
cious lady.  I  should  say  she  must  have  been 
very  well-favored  in  her  youth,  but  she  is  faded 
and  worn,  and  looks  I  can't  but  think  as  if  she 
had  some  settled  sorrow,  which  was  wearing 
away  her  health  and  life.  Mistress  Patience,  her 
bower-woman,  is  a  dignified,  somewhat  austere 
looking  lady,  and  yet  I  like  her.  She  seems  like 
one  who  might  be  very  kind  and  faithful  if  one 
were  in  any  trouble.  Mistress  Anne  Bullen  is  of 
another  sort.  At  the  first  glance  I  fell  in  love 
with  her  beauty  and  grace,  but  somehow,  as  I 
see  her  more,  I  do  not  like  her  as  well.  I  can 
hardly  tell  why,  only  she  is  never  quiet  a  minute, 
and  seems  to  act  as  if  she  wished  to  draw  all 
eyes  to  herself.  She  has,  too,  a  certain  mocking 
expression,  even  in  church — indeed  I  think  more 
there  than  anywhere — which  does  not  please  me. 
But  this  is  hard  judgment  on  one  whom  I  have 
seen  but  two  or  three  times. 

Although  her  Grace  must  needs  have  been  very 
weary  with  her  journey,  she  was  at  early  mass 
this  morning,  and  partook  of  the  sacrament  with 
great  devotion,  as    did    Mistress    Patience    and 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronictes.         Sj 

Master  Griffiths.     Mistress  Bullen  did  not,  I  sup- 
pose, from  lack  of  preparation. 

Of  course  this  visit  has  set  all  our  little  com- 
munity in  a  ferment.  That  is  only  natural.  We 
have  so  few  events  to  mark  our  lives,  that  small 
matters  become  great.  Beside  this  can  hardly 
be  called  a  small  matter. 

"Ah!"  said  Sister  Anne  to  Sister  Bridget, 
"  You  little  thought,  when  you  were  so  busy 
with  your  chairs,  who  was  to  sit  on  them  !" 

"  O  yes,  I  did  !"  answered  Sister  Bridget, 
composedly,  as  usual:  "Mother  Gertrude  told 
me." 

"Really  !  And  you  kept  the  news  to  yourself 
all  that  time  !     How  wonderful  !" 

u  I  don't  see  anything  wonderful  !"  said  Sister 
Bridget,  who  understands  everything  quite  lite- 
rally :  '*  Mother  Gertrude  told  me  not  to  tell,  and 
so,  of  course,  I.  could  not,  if  I  had  wished  it." 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  and  I  wont  tease  you," 
said  Sister  Anne,  who  has  far  more  of  generosity 
with  her  than  her  Sister.  "  But  say  now,  Sister 
Bridget,  is  it  not  a  wonderful  thing  that  a  real 
Queen  should  come  and  lodge  under  our  roof?" 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  it  is,"  answered  Sister 
Bridget,  considering  a  little,  as  usual. 

"  You  know,  Sister  Anne,  that  our  Lord  dwells 
here  all  the  time — Father  Fabian  says  so — and 
He  is  much  greater  than  any  Queen." 

I  believe  Sister  Bridget  will  be  one  of  the  saints 
that  grow,  as  Mother  Gertrude  says. 


§4  Lady  Rosamond *s  Book;  or, 

July  2$tk. 

Her  Grace  has  fallen  into  a  settled  way  of  life, 
and  methinks  seems  already  happier  than  when 
she  came.  She  keeps  all  the  hours,  and  also 
spends  much  time  in  prayer  at  the  shrine  of  our 
Lady,  in  the  garden.  It  was  a  favorite  place  of 
my  own,  but  of  course  I  do  not  intrude  on  her.  I 
went  this  morning  before  I  thought  she  would  be 
up,  meaning  to  say  prayers  for  my  father,  from 
whom  I  have  not  heard,  when,  on  entering  the 
little  chapel,  I  found  her  Grace  before  me.  I 
would  have  retired  noiselessly,  but  her  Grace 
looked  round,  and  seeing  me,  she  beckoned  me 
to  come  and  kneel  beside  her. 

"  The  place  is  small,"  said  she,  "  but  two  or 
three  devout  hearts  can  find  room  in  it,  and  we 
shall  not  hinder  each  other's  prayers." 

So  we  said  our  prayers  together  in  silence,  but 
her  Grace  sighed  many  times — oh,  so  deeply,  as 
if  from  such  a  burdened  heart,  that  I  was  moved 
to  pray  for  her.     I  am  sure,  '  Happy  as  a  Queen 
is  not  a  true  saying,  in  her  case. 

When  her  Grace  arose,  I  would  have  retired  in 
silence,  but  she  detained  me,  and  placing  herself 
on  my  favorite  seat,  she  called  me  to  sit  down 
beside  her.  I  did  so  without  demur,  since  she 
bade  me. 

"You  are  Rosamond,  daughter  of  the  good 
knight,  Sir  Stephen  Corbet,  are  you  not  ?"  asked 
her  Grace. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  I  answered.    Oh,  how  I  did 


The  Stanton- Corbet   Chronides.         85 

lc  ng  to  ask   if  she   had  seen  my  father,  but   of 
course  I  did  not  speak  till  spoken  to. 

"  And,  do  you  know,  little  Rosamond,  that  you 
are  partly  the  cause  of  my  coming  here  ?"  Then 
as  I  hesitated  what  to  say,  she  continued  :  "  I 
had  heard  before  of  this  shrine  of  our  Lady's, 
which  had  been  hallowed  by  the  prayers  of  St. 
Ethelburga  long  ago,  and  being  one  day  in  con- 
versation with  your  kinsman,  Lord  Stanton,  I 
questioned  him  about  it.  He,  seeing  my  interest, 
offered  to  bring  me  his  cousin,  Sir  Stephen  Cor- 
bet, who,  he  said,  had  a  daughter  in  the  house, 
and  could  tell  me  more  than  himself.  I  remem- 
bered the  good  knight,  and  was  glad  to  see  him 
again;  and  he  coming  to  me,  we  held  long  dis- 
course together.  He  told  me  the  house  was  of 
the  best  repute,  both  for  sanctity  of  manners 
and  good  works,  though 'twas  not  of  the  strictest 
order — that  the  Superior  was  a  lady  of  good 
family  and  breeding,  that  the  situation  was  pleas- 
ant, and  the  air  sweet  and  wholesome.  On  farther 
question,  he  also  said  that  you  were  here,  and 
seemed  very  happy  ;  and  also  that  watching  be- 
fore the  shrine  of  our  Lady  in  the  garden,  you 
had  received  from  her  a  most  comfortable  assur- 
ance concerning  your  mother,  who  had  died  sud- 
denly without  the  sacraments.  This  determined 
me  to  seek  this  house  as  a  place  to  hold  a  relig- 
ious retreat,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  same  grace 
might,  unworthy  as  I  am,  be  vouchsafed  to  me, 
who  am  sorely  in  need." 


86  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

She  again  sighed  heavily,  and  as  she    looked 
,  abroad  in  silence  for  some  minutes,  I  am  sure  I 
saw  tears  in  her  lovely  eyes.     I  sat  quite  still, 
not  knowing  what  better  to  do. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  the  history  of  this  matter, 
my  child  ?"  said  she  presently,  coming  back,  as  it 
were,  from  the  place  where  her  thoughts  had  gone. 
"Believe  me,  it  is  no  idle  curiosity  which  prompts 
the  request." 

Now  my  night  in  the  chapel  has  ever  seemed 
to  me  so  sacred  that  I  have  never  mentioned  it 
save  to  my  father  and  Amice,  to  whom  I  tell 
everything,  and  to  Father  Fabian  my  confessor ; 
but  seeing  the  Queen's  desire,  I  could  not  refuse  : 
so  I  told  her  all  as  truly  as  if  I  had  been  at  con- 
fession. She  listened  eagerly,  but  looked,  I 
thought,  disappointed  when  I  had  done. 

u  And  was  that  all  ?"  she  said.  "  Was  there  no 
sign  from  the  Holy  Image — no  light  nor  voice  ?" 

"  I  told  her  there  was  none — it  was  only  that 
some  influence  seemed  sweetly  to  bring  to  my 
mind,  and  open  to  my  apprehension  the  wor^s  I 
had  so  often  read  before. 

"  And  was  that  all?"  said  the  Queen,  once  more  ; 
and  again  she  sighed  heavily.  I  knew  it  was  not 
my  place  to  speak,  far  less  to  instruct  her,  but 
something  seemed  to  bid  me  not  hold  my  peace. 

"If  I  dared  be  so  bold,  Madam,"  I  began,  with 
fear  and  trembling. 

"  Well !"  said  her  Grace,  smiling  sweetly  :  "  \i 
you  dare  be  so  bold  maiden,  what  then  ?" 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,         Sj 

"Then,  Madam,"  I  answered,  "I  would  rather 
have  things  as  they  are.  If  I  had  seen  a  vision — if 
our  Lady's  image  had  bowed  to  rne,  or  I  had  seen 
a  great  light,  or  heard  an  angel  speaking,  I  might 
afterward  have  come  to  think  I  had  dreamed  it. 
But  these  blessed  words  are  not  liable  to  any  such 
doubt.  They  are  in  the  Holy  Psalms,  a  part  of 
God's  own  word — so  I  can  read  them  when  I 
please  and  feel  that  they  must  be  true." 

"  There  is  much  in  what  you  say !"  answered 
her  Grace.  "  Rosamond,  you  are  a  good  child.  If 
your  mother  had  not  given  you  to  this  house,  I 
should  be  tempted  to  beg  you  of  your  father,  and 
keep  you  about  me.  But  we  must  not  commit 
sacrilege,  must  we,  my  maiden  ?  However,  I  shall 
make  bold  to  ask  the  Superior  to  give  me  much 
of  your  company." 

So  saying,  her  Grace  kissed  my  forehead  and 
walked  away,  leaving  me  overwhelmed  with  her 
kindness.  This  afternoon  Mother  Superior  called 
Amice  and  myself,  and  told  us  that  her  Grace  had 
made  choice  of  us  to  attend  her  on  alternate  days, 
and  also  to  walk  abroad  with  her  when  she  chose 
to  visit  any  of  the  poor  folks.  Of  course  we  made 
no  objection. 

"Tis  a  great  honor,  doubtless  !"  said  Amice, 
when  we  left  the  room  ;  "  but  I  could  wish  her 
Grace  had  chosen  some  one  else.  However,  she 
has  a  right  to  command  the  services  of  all  in  the 
house,  and  after  all,  'tis  but  a  matter  of  obedience  " 

"Just  so  !"  I  answered,  delighted  at  her  taking 


88  Lady  Rosamond *s  Book  ;  or, 

it  so  calmly  ;  "  and  if  we  can  give  any  comfort  or 
pleasure  to  her  Grace,  I  am  sure  we  should  be 
glad  to  do  it." 

"But  I  shall  not  know  how  to  address  her," 
said  Amice. 

"  There  is  dear  old  Mother  Mary  Monica  sitting 
in  the  sun,"  said  I  ;  "  let  us  go  and  ask  her  coun- 
sel. She  was  once  maid  of  honor  to  the  late 
Queen,  you  know." 

So  we  went  and  sat  down  at  the  old  nun's  feet 
and  laid  our  matters  before  her,  asking  her  to  ad* 
vise  us  how  we  should  demean  ourselves  before 
the  Queen. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  :  "  so  her  Grace  has 
chosen  you  out  of  all  the  family  to  wait  on  her. 
I  wish  the  honor  may  not  bring  you  ill  will.  But 
you  deserve  it,  for  you  are  good  maidens,  good 
maids  !"  and  she  stroked  our  heads  with  her 
trembling,  withered  hands.  "  You  are  kind  to  the 
old  and  the  simple,  and  that  is  sure  to  bring  a 
blessing.  Only  be  not  set  up  in  your  own  con- 
ceits, for  pride  is  a  sin — one  of  the  seven  deadly 
sins — and  court  favor  is  vainer  than  thistle-down 
and  more  changeable  than  the  wind." 

"  So  I  suppose,"  said  I ;  "but,  dear  Mother,  you 
know  the  ways  of  court  ;  will  you  not  tell  us  how 
we  should  behave  ?" 

"  Aye,  surely,  child.  Was  I  not  maid  of  honor 
to  the  good  Queen  Elizabeth  ?  Good  indeed  she 
was,  but  she  was  not  happy,  for  all.  Many  a 
ploughman's  or  fisher's  dam   is  better  off  than 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         Sg 

was  that  daughter  and  wife  of  kings.  As  to 
behaving — just  behave  like  ladies.  Take  no  liber- 
ties, even  though  your  mistress  should  seem  to 
invite  them.  Speak  when  you  are  spoken  to, 
modestly  and  openly,  and  be  as  silent  as  the 
grave  as  to  any  and  every  word  you  may  hear  in 
the  presence,  be  it  ever  so  light.  Observe  these 
rules,  and  you  will  do  well  enough.  There  are  no 
men  about  her  Grace,  or  saucy  pages  to  make 
mischief,  and  if  there  were  you  are  no  silly  giglets 
to  be  led  into  scrapes.  Nay,  you  will  do  well 
enough,  no  fear." 

"Will  you  not  give  us  your  prayers,  dear 
Mother  ?"  said  Amice. 

"  Aye,  that  I  will,  daughter ;  and  do  you 
give  yours  to  your  mistress,  for  she  has  need  oi 
them.  There  is  heart  trouble  in  her  face,  poor 
lady.  And  daughters,  another  thing.  Be  you 
courteous  and  kind  to  all,  and  learn  all  you  can, 
but  do  not  you  go  making  a  friend  and  intimate 
of  tHis  fine  court  young  lady.  Take  my  word  for 
it,  you  will  gain  nothing  but  trouble  thereby. 
'Tis  a  fair  creature  too,  and  gracious,  but  giddy, 
and  too  fond  of  admiration.  Mind,  I  don't  say 
that  there  is  any  real  harm  in  her.  But  she  has 
grown  up  in  the  French  court,  which  was  no  good 
school  in  my  day,  and  I  doubt  has  not  improved 
since  ;  and  she  has  had  no  motherly  training,  poor 
thing.  She  seems  to  me  like  one  who  would 
make  eyes  at  the  blessed  St.  Anthony  himself, 


()6  Lady  Rosamond's  £ook;  or> 

and  failing  the  saint,  she  would  flirt  with  his  very 
pig  rather  than  lack  her  game." 

"  Did  St.  Anthony  have  a  pig  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Surely,  child.  Have  you  never  read  his  life  ? 
When  I  was  a  young  lady  in  London — I  wot  not 
if  the  usage  is  kept  up — devout  persons  used 
often  to  buy  lame  or  sickly  swine  of  the  drovers, 
and  putting  the  saint's  mark  on  them,  turn  them 
loose  in  the  street.  Every  one  fed  them,  and  they 
soon  learned  to  know  their  benefactors.  I  have 
seen  mine  honored  uncle — for  my  mother  had  a 
brother  who  was  a  merchant  and  Lord  Mayor — I 
have  seen  my  good  uncle  followed  by  two  or 
three  lusty  porkers,  grunting  and  squealing  for 
the  crusts  which  the  good  man  dispensed  from  his 
pocket.  The  Franciscans  have  ever  been  kind  to 
animals  ;  and  St.  Francis  loved  the  birds,  especi- 
ally. He  would  never  have  torn  in  pieces  the 
sparrow  that  came  into  church,  as  St.  Dominic 
did." 

11 1  wonder  whether  St.  Dominic  ever  read  that 
verse  in  the  Psalter,  about  the  sparrow  finding  a 
nest  wherein  to  lay  her  young?"  remarked 
Amice. 

"  Eh,  dear,  I  don't  know — I  suppose  so.  He 
was  a  stern  man,  was  St.  Dominic." 

••  Mother,"  said  Amice,  after  a  little  silence, 
•'  did  you  know  the  lady  who  used  to  live  in  the 
Queen's  apartment  ?" 

"  Did  I  know  her  ?  Aye,  indeed,  child  !  Did  I 
not  have  the    principal    care    of  her,    under  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         gi 

Mother  Superior  that  was  then  ?  But  that  was 
long  ago.  Mother  Gertrude  was  a  young  woman 
then,  and  Mother  Superior  that  now  is,  was  just 
professed.  It  was  in  the  weary  times  of  the  civil 
wars,  in  Henry  Sixth's  day,  that  the  poor  lady 
came  here,  and  she  lived  in  those  rooms  twenty 
years  -twenty  years,  children — and  never  saw  a 
face  save  Mother  Superior's  and  mine,  and 
latterly  Mother  Gertrude's,  when  she  began  to 
divide  the  charge  with  me." 

"  What,  not  at  church  ?"  said  I. 

M  She  never  went  into  the  church,"  answered 
Mother  Mary  Monica.  "  There  is  a  sliding  panel 
in  the  oratory — I  know  not  whether  you  found  it 
— behind  which  is  a  very  close  grating,  too  close 
to  be  seen  through,  looking  upon  the  altar.  Here 
she  might  hear  mass,  if  she  would,  but  she  never 
went  into  the  church." 

"  But  surely  she  might  have  looked  into  the 
garden,  and  seen  the  Sisters  at  their  recreation." 

"No,  child.  The  windows,  you  may  have 
observed,  are  very  tall,  and  the  lower  parts  were 
boarded  up  higher  than  she  could  reach.  When 
she  was  at  last  laid  on  her  dying  bed,  the  boards 
were  taken  down,  at  her  most  earnest  prayer, 
that  she  might  once  more  behold  the  green  trees. 
Ah,  well  do  I  remember,  children,"  said  the  old 
Mother,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "  I  was 
alone  with  her  after  that,  and  she  said  to  me, 
clasping  her  hands — oh  such  thin  hands  !  You 
cou!4  see  the  light  through  the  very  palms  of 


Q2  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

them,  and  she  had  wound  her  finger  with  threads 
that  she  might  not   lose   her    wedding-ring." 

"  And  she  said  " — repeated  Amice — 

"  And  she  said,  clasping  her  poor  hands;  '  Oh 
dear  sister,  for  our  dear  Lord's  sake,  put  me  in  my 
chair  by  the  window,  and  let  me  look  on  the  face 
of  the  fair  world  once  more.'  Well  I  knew  she 
could  not  live  long,  at  the  best,  so  I  even  humored 
her,  and  lifted  her  to  the  great  chair  by  the  win- 
dow. 

The  sun  was  setting  in  great  glory,  and  all  the 
hills  were  lighted  with  a  purple  glow.  She  gazed 
eagerly  abroad,  and  the  very  sunlight  seemed 
reflected  from  her  face. 

11  'A  fair  world — wondrous  fair,'  she  murmured, 
but  the  next  will  be  far  fairer.  "  Eye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  heart  of  man  conceived, 
what  He  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  Him." 
There  will  be  greener  pastures  and  stiller  waters — 
even  the  water  of  life,  clear  as  crystal — "and  the 
Lamb  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  lead  them, 
and  God  shall  wipe  all  tears  from  their  eyes." ' 

"  Children,  her  face  was  like  the  face  of  an 
angel :  but  directly  there  came  a  change,  and  I 
had  hardly  laid  her  back  on  the  bed,  where  she 
breathed  her  last." 

"  Without  the  sacraments  ?"  said  I. 

"  Even  so.  You  see  we  did  not  think  her  so 
near  her  end.  But  I  trust  her  soul  hath  gotten 
grace.  They 'buried  her  in  the  corner  of  the  cem- 
etery farthest  from  the  church.     There  is  nothing 


The  Stantoii- Corbet  Chronicles.         pj 

to  mark  the  grave  save  the  blue  violets  and  lilies 
of  the  valley  I  planted,  and  which  have  flourished 
marvellously." 

"But  what  was  her  offence,  dear  Mother?" 
I  asked.  "  Why  was  she  kept  so  long  and  so 
closely  ?" 

"  Nay,  that  I  know  not  precisely,  though  I  may 
have  a  shrewd  guess.  She  was  akin  to  the  Ver- 
nons,  I  know,  and  they  fitted  her  rooms,  and 
sometimes  sent  her  linen  and  the  like,  though 
they  never  came  anigh  her.  For  my  part  I 
always  thought  she  was  infected  with  Lollardie, 
and  being  of  such  exalted  rank,  she  escaped 
burning  only  to  waste  her  young  life  in  a  prison, 
for  she  was  not  forty  when  she  died.  But,  chil- 
dren, where  have  you  led  me?"  said  the  old  nun, 
with  a  startled  look  ;  "  I  have  said,  I  fear,  more 
than  I  ought." 

"  Do  not  be  disturbed,  dear  Mother,  said  I,  kiss- 
ing her  hand  ;  "  be  sure  neither  Amice  nor  I  shall 
ever  repeat  a  word  of  what  we  have  heard." 

"  No,  indeed  !"  added  Amice,  and  then,  to  divert 
her  mind,  I  said,  "  So  you  think  we  had  better 
not  make  a  friend  of  Mistress  Bullen,  Mother  ?" 

"  Nay,  child,  I  say  naught  against  her,  but 
what  should  you  do  with  such  worldly  friend- 
ships ?  No,  no  ;  I  say  no  hansn  of  her  ;  the  saints 
forbid  !  but  I  like  not  her  light-minded  ways  ;  and 
courts,  children — courts  are  slippery  places.  But, 
as  I  said,  do  you  be  discreet  and  silent ;  speak 
only  when  spoken  to,  take  no  liberties,  and  a^oyy 


f)4  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

ail  never  forget  your  duty  to  Heaven  and    this 
house,  and  you  will  do  well,  never  fear." 

[/  did  not  write  this  talc  in  my  great  book,  but 
on  leaves  which  I  hid  away  in  the  great  folio  of 
"  Duns  Scotus,"  and  this  is  the  case  with  much 
that  comes  after.  In  this  I  did  somewhat  fail  in 
my  duty,  perhaps,  for  in  a  religious  house  o?ie's 
very  most  secret  thoughts  are  not  one's  own.  Not 
a  letter  from  ones  dearest  friend,  but  is  re^d  by 
the  superiors — nay  one  is  not  supposed  to  have 
one  friend  more  than  another.  Our  dear  Mother 
Superior  was  not  so  strict  as  some,  but  Sister 
Catherine  p7'icd  everywhere,  even  into  the  library, 
where  she  had  no  business,  for  it  was  my  charge, 
as  the  storerooms  were  hers.  I  shall  always  think 
it  was  by  her  means,  somehow,  that  the  story  of  my 
sending  the  prayer-book  to  Dick  reached  the 
Bishop's  ears.  Marry,  if  it  was,  she  gained  not 
much  thereby,  to  my  thinking.  But  if  I  hid  awa) 
the  leaves  of  my  journal,  'twas  my  only  concealmeni 
from  that  honored  lady,  who  then,  a?id  long  after, 
stood  in  the  place  of  a  mother  to  me,  poor  orphan 
maid]  i 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Augtist  i. 
MOST  disagreeable  thing  has  chanced 
to  me,  but  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  of 
it.  I  have  done  what  seemed  me  best, 
and  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  dismtes 
the  matter  from  my  mind,  if  I  only  could.  I  can't 
guess  how  Dick  could  do  such  a  thing.  He  must 
have  known,' if  he  had  but  thought  a  little,  into 
what  an  embarrassment  it  would  bring  me. 

I  have  now  been  in  attendance  on  her  Grace 
two  or  three  days,  and  have  begun  to  feel  a  little 
more  at  ease,  for  at  first  I  felt  stifled,  as  it  were. 
I  can't  think  it  pleasant  to  be  with  those  who 
seem  to  look  upon  one  as  being  of  another  flesh 
and  blood  than  themselves,  if  they  are  ever  so 
gracious.  The  Queen  is  very  kind,  no  doubt  (I 
don't  believe  she  could  be  otherwise),  but  it  does 
seem  to  me  more  like  the  kindness  one  would  be- 
stow on  a  pet  dog  or  cat,  than  the  good  will,  not 
to  say  affection — one  woman  should  give  to  an- 
other. I  dare  say  all  great  folks  are  so,  especially 
Kings  and  Queens.  They  are  taught  to  think 
i!vjmselves  of  another  race,     After  all,  it  is  mine 


g6  Lady  RosamoiicCs  Book;  or, 

own  pride,  I  suppose,  which  makes  me  uncom- 
fortable. 

Mrs.  Anne  Bullen  has  been  kind  to  me,  though 
in  a  way  which  1  like  worse  than  the  other.  I  see 
clearly  that  there  is  no  love  lost  between  herself 
and  the  bower-woman,  Mistress  Patience,  and  it 
seems  as  if  she  wished  to  enlist  me  as  a  partisan 
on  her  side,  casting  mocking  glances  at  me, 
behind  her  mistress's  back,  whenever  Mrs.  Pa- 
tience makes  any  of  the  little  set  moral  speeches 
to  which  she  is  given,  and  specially  when  she 
utters  any  devout  sentiment.  Now,  my  honored 
mother  early  taught  me  that  these  significant  and 
mocking  looks  were  among  the  worst  of  bad 
manners  ;  and  moreover  I  could  in  this  case  see 
nothing  to  laugh  at,  so  I  have  been  careful  to  give 
no  response  or  encouragement  to  them.  This 
morning  I  had  gone  early  to  the  chapel  in  the 
garden,  as  usual,  when  entering  quietly,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  Mistress  Anne,  not  at  her  prayers, 
but  peeping  and  prying  about  the  altar  and  the 
image  of  our  Lady.  She  started  a  little,  1  thought, 
as  I  came  in,  and  then  said,  easily  enough  : 

"So  this  is  the  sacred  image  which  has  stood 
since  the  time  of  St.  Ethelburga,  and  the  fame  oi 
which  has  drawn  her  grace  to  this  out-of-the-wa> 
corner.     What  a  hideous  old  idol  it  is  !" 

This  did  not  seem  to  me  the  way  to  speak  in  a 
church,  so  I  held  my  tongue  ;  whereat  she  said,  in 
I  light,  mocking  way,  but  with  perfect  good 
humor,  *'  Ob,  you  are  one  ef  the  devout,  Mistress 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         gj 

Rosamond.  I  cry  your  pardon  !  How  shall  I 
atone  for  my  offence  ?  I  wonder  whether  news 
from  a  certain  gay  and  gallant  squire  would  do 

it  r 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mistress  Bullen,"  I 
answered,  I  dare  say  stiffly  enough,  though  there 
was  that  in  her  manner  which  made  my  cheeks 
flame. 

u  O  no,  I  see  you  don't,"  she  answered.  Me- 
thinks  your  cheeks  tell  another  story.  Come,  be 
honest  now,  and  tell  me  what  would  you  give  for 
news  from  this  same  cousin  Richard,  whom  a  few 
weeks  at  court  has  transformed  from  a  West 
country  clown,  into  as  handsome  and  saucy  a 
squire  as  may  be  found  in  all  the  court.  Suppose 
this  same  squire,  knowing  me  to  be  bound  hither- 
ward,  had  entrusted  me  with  a  packet  for  his  dear 
cousin  Rosamond.     What  then  ?" 

"  Then  my  cousin  Richard  would  have  done  a 
very  unwise  and  inconsiderate  thing,  and  one  of 
which  I  should  not  have  suspected  him,"  said  I, 
trying  to  answer  quietly,  though  my  heart  beat 
and  my  cheeks  glowed.  "  He  knows  my  position 
here,  and  that  such  a  step  must  needs  compro- 
mise me  with  my  superiors." 

"  But  your  superiors  need  not  know  everything, 
simple  maiden,"  she  answered,  in  her  light  fashion, 
and  then  dropping  a  packet  in  my  lap,  she  fled 
away,  and  I  presently  heard  her  singing  some  light 
French  love-song  in  the  garden. 

The  packet  was  not  a   large   one,  and  it  was 


gS  Lady  Rosamo?ids  Boo!c ;  or, 

directed  in  Richard's  hand-writing.  I  own  I  was 
tempted  to  open  it  on  the  spot,  and  I  dare  say  I 
should  have  done  so,  but  just  then,  Sister  Cath- 
erine entered.  She  has  greatly  affected  this  shrine 
since  the  Queen  came  hither,  though  I  never  saw 
her  near  it  before.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  packet 
before  I  had  time  to*  put  it  up,  as  I  certainty 
should  have  done. 

"  So  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  triumph  ! 
"  So,  fair  Rosamond,  this  is  the  secret  of  your 
devotion  to  St.  Ethelburga's  shrine,  is  it  ?  So  this 
is  our  young  saint,  wlio  watches,  and  prays,  and 
translates  devout  books.  Then  changing  her 
tone  —  "  Ah,  Rosamond,  Rosamond,  beware  ! 
You  are  on  the  high  road  to  destruction.  How 
dare  you  profane  this  holy  place  with  love  tokens, 
aye,  and  love  meetings,  for  aught  I  know  ?  Is  it 
not  enough  to  draw  down  the  vengeance  of  heaven 
not  only  on  yourself,  but  on  all  this  house  and 
family  ?" 

By  this  time,  I  was  quite  cool  and  collected. 
"  You  are  making  a  leap  in  the  dark,  as  usual, 
Sister  Catherine,"  I  said.  "This  packet  has  but 
just  been  put  into  my  hands,  and  if  you  will  go 
with  me,  yourself  shall  see  me  put  it  unopened 
into  those  of  Mother  Superior.  And  since  we  are 
here  together,  let  us  remember  the  Bishop's  ser- 
mon, and  join  our  prayers  for  that  charity  of  which 
he  spoke,  which  thinketh  no  evil,  but  hopeth 
all  things." 

She  looked  taken  aback  for  a   moment,   and 


7%e  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.         gg 

then — "  Ah,  sister,  sister  !  But  I  am  thankful  if 
my  chance  incoming  saved  you  from  profaning 
this  holy  place,  even  once.  I  do  not  doubt  you 
will  now  give  that  package  to  Mother  Superior, 
unopened.  But  how  many  have  already  been 
received  and  read  here  ?" 

At  this  I  lost  patience.  "  Methinks,  sister,  your 
head  must  be  very  full  of  love  tokens,  and  such 
matters,  since  you  must  needs  be  talking  of  them 
in  the  very  chapel  itself,"  I  said.  "Perhaps,  if 
you  have  exhausted  the  subject,  you  will  give  me 
leave  to  say  my  prayers  ;"  and  with  that  I  with- 
drew myself  to  the  other  side,  and  knelt  down  to 
my  devotions,  which  I  fear  were  too  full  of  dis- 
tractions to  be  very  acceptable.  I  was  angry  at 
Richard  for  bringing  me  into  such  a  scrape,  and 
at  Mistress  Bullen  for  helping  him  ;  I  was  angry 
at  Sister  Catherine  for  her  unkind  construction, 
and  at  myself,  for  retorting  on  her.  Beside  I  for- 
saw  real  and  serious  annoyance,  growing  out  of 
Richard's  imprudence. 

When  I  had  finished,  I  rose  and  said  to  Sister 
Catherine,  "  Now,  if  you  will  go  with  me,  you  shall 
be  satisfied." 

"  If  I  go  with  you,  it  will  be  from  no  idle  curi- 
osity, but  to  save  you  from  committing  another 
sin,"  said  she,  severely. 

I  made  her  no  answer,  and  we  went  together, 
ind  in  silence,  to  Mother  Superior's  room,  where 
we  found  her  looking  over  some  papers. 

"So  !"  said  she,  sharply.     "Sister  Catherine,  I 


too         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

p/as  about  sending  for  you.  Rosamond,  what 
brings  you  hither  ?" 

"A  sad  occasion,  dear  Mother,"  answered 
Sister  Catherine,  before  I  had  time  to  speak.  M  I 
bring  you  a  sinner,  but  let  us  hope  a  repentant 
one,  and  I  entreat  you,  dearest  Mother,  to  con- 
sider her  youth  and  the  temptations  under  which 
she  hath  lately  been  placed,  and  not  judge  her 
hardly.  Rosamond  hath  received — from  what 
source  I  know  not  certainly,  though  I  have  a 
shrewd  guess — a  private  packet.  Yes,  even  in 
the  holy  shrine  of  St.  Ethelburga,  where  sacrilege 
hath  been  so  fearfully  avenged  before  this  time, 
she  hath  received  a  love-token — how  many  more 
I  know  not.  Alas !  The  post  of  a  favorite  is 
ever  a  dangerous  one,  and  pride  goeth  before  a 
fall !" 

"  What  is  all  this,  Rosamond  ?"  asked  Mother 
Superior,  turning  to  me. 

For  all  answer  I  told  her  as  shortly  and  plainly 
as  I  could,  what  had  chanced,  suppressing  only 
the  name  of  Mistress  Anne,  as  not  fit  to  be  re- 
vealed before  Sister  Catherine. 

"  But  who  was  the  go-between  and  messenger  ?" 
asked  Sister  Catherine.  "Methinks  our  young 
Sister's  confession  is  incomplete.  Alas,  that  I 
should  live  to  see  this  holy  house  fall  into  such 
disorder.  But  I  ever  said  what  would  come  of 
these  irregularities.  We  shall  see  no  good  till  we 
are  reformed  from  top  to  bottom." 

"  Sister  Catherine,  with  your  leave,  I  will  judge 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       TOi 

of  this  matter  myself,"  said  Mother  Superior, 
sharply  ;  "  and,  meantime,  I  must  needs  say, 
you  forget  yourself  strangely  when  you  take  the 
words  out  of  my  mouth  and  use  such  language 
to  me,  who  am  the  head  of  this  house.  Do  you 
talk  to  me  of  disorders,  and  that  when  your  own 
charge  is  so  misordered  and  neglected,  as  I  have 
found  it  only  this  morning  ?  Betake  yourself  to 
the  wardrobe  and  store-room,  and  leave  them 
not  while  a  grain  of  dust  or  a  cobweb  remains. 
Let  every  piece  of  cloth  and  linen,  yea,  every 
napkin  and  kerchief,  and  skein  of  thread  be  taken 
down  and  folded  anew,  and  the  shelves  wiped 
clean  of  dust  and  mold,  and  let  all  presses  and 
drawers  be  filled  with  fresh  rose  leaves,  lavender 
and  southernwood.  Leave  not  your  work  either 
for  meal-time  or  recreation  till  it  is  finished  ;  and 
when  I  next  visit  the  wardrobe  let  me  find  the 
neatness  and  order  befitting  a  religious  house. 
Public  penance  may  be  well,  but  secret  humility 
and  faithfulness  are  far  better.  And  do  you  not 
breathe  a  word  of  this  matter  to  any  living  soul, 
if  you  would  avoid  such  discipline  as  will  bring 
you  neither  comfort  nor  honor.  I  have  long 
borne  with  your  carelessness  in  your  own  charge, 
and  your  ceaseless  meddling  and  impertinence, 
out  of  pity  for  your  weakness  ;  but  faithfulness  to 
mine  own  duty  will  let  me  endure  it  no  longer. 
Go,  and  presume  not  to  show  your  face  either  at 
table  or  recreation  until  your  work  is  finished. 
As  you  cannot  well  fold  the  clothes^alone,  I  will 


to2  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

send  Sister  Bridget  to  help  you  ;  but  mind,  let  not 
a  word  be  spoken  between  you,  save  what  your 
work  absolutely  demands." 

Angry  as  I  was  at  poor  Sister  Catherine,  I  did 
feel  sorry  for  her,  though  I  knew  the  reproof  was 
just.  The  wardrobe  and  store-room  have  been 
fearfully  misordered  of  late,  so  that  the  moths 
have  got  into  everything.  Sister  Catherine  was 
so  taken  aback  that  she  was  retiring  at  once, 
when  Mother  Superior  recalled  her. 

11  Do  you  go  without  any  sign  ?"  said  she.  "  Is 
fhat  the  way  you  receive  reproof  and  command  ?" 

Sister  Catherine  knelt  and  kissed  the  ground 
it  the  superior's  feet.  Again  I  felt  truly  sorry 
for  her.  When  she  was  gone,  Mother  turned 
to  me. 

"  And  you,  minion,  what  is  this  I  hear  ?  Must 
you  turn  giglet  on  my  hands  ?  Let  me  hear  what 
youiiave  to  say  on  this  matter,  and  beware  you 
tell  me  nothing  but  truth." 

I  felt  my  pride  rising,  but  I  put  it  down,  and 
kneeling  at  her  feet  I  laid  the  packet  on  her  lap 
with  the  seal  unbroken. 

"  From  whom  had  you  this  ?"  she  asked. 

I  told  her  from  Mrs.  Anne  Bullen. 

u  And  who  sent  it  ?"  she  asked  again. 

I  told  her  that  the  hand  was  my  cousin  Rich- 
ard's, and  that  Mrs.  Bullen  told  me  i*  came  from 
him,  but  farther  than  that  I  did  not  know.  I 
ventured  to  add  that  it  had  but  just  been  placed 
*ni  my  hands  when  Sister  Catherine  came  in.     She 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Ckionictes.       16$ 

looked  at  the  packet,  and  her  face  relaxed  as  she 
saw  the  seals  were  unbroken. 

"Rosamond,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  on  my 
head,  as  I  knelt  before  her,  and  speaking  with 
great  earnestness  :  "  you  were  given  me  by  your 
own  mother,  the  dearest  friend  I  ever  had,  and  I 
have  loved  you  like  a  daughter.  I  have  ever 
found  you  open  and  true  as  the  day,  and  I  cannot 
but  believe  you  so  still,  though  appearances  are 
against  you.  Tell  me,  as  if  you  were  speaking  to 
the  priest  at  confession.  Is  this  the  first  time 
you  have  received  packet  or  token  from  your 
cousin  ?" 

"  From  my  cousin,  or  any  one  else,"  I  told  her. 

"  And  v/hat  had  Mistress  Bullen  to  say  to  you  ?" 

I  repeated  every  wrrd,  as  near  as  I  could  re- 
member. She  laid  the  packet  aside,  and  seemed 
to  muse  a  little,  still  keeping  her  hand  on  my 
head.  * 

"  Well,  well,  I  believe  you  and  trust  you,"  she 
said,  finally.  "  Do  you  leave  the  matter  with  me, 
and  avoid  any  intimacy  or  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Bullen,  so  far  as  you  can  without  exciting 
remark.  Remember  that  though  you  have  not 
taken  the  vows,  you  have  promised  your  mother 
and  been  promised  by  her,  and  that  'tis  a  deadly 
sin  for  a  religious  so  much  as  to  entertain  a 
thought  of  earthly  love.  It  is  treason  to  your 
heavenly  Bridegroom,  to  whom  all  your  allegiance 
is  due.  He  has  called  you  to  a  grace  compared 
to  which  the  highest. earthlv  marriage  is  degrada- 


to^         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or* 

tion  and  pollution  ;  and  the  day  that  sees  yon 
vowed  to  Him  will  be  the  proudest  of  your  life.'' 

Much  more  she  said  in  the  same  strain,  as  to 
the  putting  down  all  earthly  affections  and  de- 
sires, and  remembering  that  I  had  now  no  more 
to  do  with  the  world  in  any  form.  "  You  have 
talent  and  address,"  she  concluded,  "and  I  would 
fain  train  you  up  to  succeed  me  in  this  chair, 
though  it  is  a  seat  of  thorns.  The  notion  hath 
somehow  gotten  abroad  that  the  discipline  of 
this  house  is  relaxed  and  disordered.  It  was  that 
which  brought  us  the  Bishop's  unexpected  visit. 
I  fear  I  have  indeed  been  lax  in  government,  and 
that  some  irregularities  have  crept  in,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  wardrobe  and  storerooms,  which  could 
never  have  gotten  into  such  a  state  if  they  had 
had  due  superintendence.  So  soon  as  the  Queer. 
leave.;  us  we  must  have  a  thorough  reform.  Go 
now,  my  child,  and  as  this  is  not  your  dav  of 
attendance  on  the  Queen,  you  shall  return  to  vout 
translation,  which  I  fear  has  fared  but  badly  c 
late." 

Afid  with  that  she  gave  me  her  blessing  and 
dismissed  me  to  my  work.  I  suppose  I  am  very 
perverse.  When  Richard's  packet  was  in  my 
hand  I  was  so  angry  with  him  for  his  thoughtless- 
ness that  I  cared  only  to  get  rid  of  it  ;  and  now 
that  it  is  out  of  my  reach  I  would  give  anything 
to  have  it  again.  I  dare  say  it  is  nothing  after 
all  but  a  simple  brotherly  gift,  with  some  book 
of  devotion  or  case  of  working  tools,  such  as  I 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Ckronictes.       to$ 

remember  he  promised  to  send  me.  I  am  not 
sorry  I  gave  it  to  Mother  Superior,  because  it  was 
the  right  thing  to  do  ;  but — but  I  am  a  fool,  and 
there  is  an  end.  I  will  never  believe  that  Richard 
hath  become  any  such  court  gallant  as  Mrs.  Anne 
says.  'Twas  not  in  his  nature,  and  if  I  had  read 
his  letter  I  should  have  found  it  just  such  a 
simple,  blundering  epistle  as  he  used  to  write  me 
froiy  Exeter.     Strange,  how  my  mind  runs  on  it ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 


AugUSt*  2. 

MET  Mrs.  Bullen  in  the  garden  this 
morning,  and  was  passing  her  with  a 
grave  salutation,  when  she  stopped  me. 
"  So,  Mistress  Rosamond,  you  have 
well  requited  my  good-nature.  A  fine  lecture  I 
have  had  from  my  mistress  and  your  starched 
Lady  Abbess  !  I  am  beholden  to  you  for  bring- 
ing me  into  disgrace,  and  I  will  remember  it,   I 


assure  you 


I  told  her  that  I  had  not  meant  to  bring  her 
into  disgrace,  and  was  sorry  that  I  had  done  so — 
that  I  had  had  no  choice  about  showing  the  pack- 
age, which  had  brought  me  into  danger  of  dis- 
grace and  punishment  as  well. 

"Well,  well  !"  said  she,  lightly  :  "  I  meant  you 
a  kindness,  an  J  nothing  more.  I  dare  say  Cousin 
Richard  will  easily  console  himself.  There  are 
plenty  of  fair  ladies  about  the  French  court  who 
will  not  scorn  the  favor  of  a  handsome  young 
Englishman.  I  would  I  were  back  there  myself, 
for  this  English  court  is  triste  and  dull  enow, 
even  without  keeping   retreats  in  this  grim  old 


The  Sianion- Corbet  Chronicles.       ioy 

jail.  As  to  my  Lady  Abbess,  let  her  look  to  her 
reign  and  enjoy  it  while  she  can.  There  is  thun- 
der abroad  in  the  air,  and  who  knows  where  it 
will  strike  !" 

"  Do  you  mean  this  Lutheran  heresy  ?"  I  asked. 
"  Surely  the  King  does  not  favor  it,  and  the 
Queen  abhors  it." 

"  O  yes,  the  Queen  abhors  it  !"  said  she,  catch- 
ing up  my  words  with  a  mocking  tone  ;  "  and 
doubtless  her  Grace's  influence  is  all  powerful 
with  his  Majesty.  Nevertheless,  it  did  not  pre- 
vail to  save  the  convents  which  yonder  proud 
cardinal  put  down  the  other  day.  But  why 
should  I  say  these  things  to  you  ?  You  are  but 
a  doll,  like  all  nuns — a  puppet  that  must  needs 
dance  as  your  strings  are  pulled." 

"Then  if  I  am  a  puppet,  I  will  strive  to  be  an 
obedient  one,"  said  I  ;  "  methinks  a  puppet  would 
do  little,  setting  up  for  itself." 

She  laughed  at  the  conceit,  in  her  pretty,  merry 
way. 

"Well,  well,  'tis  no  use  to  be  angry  with  you, 
I  see,  and  if  you  brought  me  into  a  scrape,  I  did 
the  same  by  you,  so  we  are  even.  As  for  Cousin 
Richard,  he  will  soon  console  himself,  as  I  said. 
Country  cousins  will  be  of  little  account  with  him 
when  he  sees  the  fair  damsels  that  cluster  round 
the  French  Queen.  No  disparagement  to  you, 
fair  Rosamond  !" 

So  we  parted,  good  friends  enough  ;  but  I  can- 
not but  be  vexed  with  myself  for  dwelling  on  her 


ro8 


Lady  Rosamond 's  Book, 


words.  What  is  it  to  me  whether  Richaid  con- 
soles himself  or  not?  I  hope  his  simpleness  will 
not  be  befooled,  that  is  all.  If  I  could  have  read 
his  letter  I  might  have  guessed— but  what  am  1 
^aying  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


August  I2y  Feast  of  St.  Clare. 
HE  Queen  goes  to-morrow,  and  I  am 
right  glad  on't.  Not  that  I  have  aught 
against  her  Grace.  She  has  been  a 
good  mistress  to  me,  and  I  have  learned 
many  things  of  Mistress  Patience,  chiefly  the  art 
of  knitting  stockings,  with  which  I  am  delighted. 
Moreover,  I  believe  the  restraint  I  have  had  to 
put  on  myself  in  the  presence,  has  been  good 
discipline  for  me,  who  am  ever  apt  to  speak  with- 
out thought. 

Another  privilege  I  have  gained  by  my  atten- 
dance on  the  Queen,  which  I  fear  I  shall  sorely 
miss.  I  mean  that  of  walking  abroad.  The 
Queen  hath  visited  the  poor  people  in  the  village, 
and  all  about  here,  even  to  two  or  three  miles 
distant ;  and  as  Amice  cannot  walk  far  on  account 
of  her  lame  ancle,  I  have  attended  her  Grace, 
along  with  Mistress  Patience,  and  Master  Griffith, 
who  is  a  very  sober,  good-natured  gentleman, 
about  as  old  as  my  father.  It  did  seem  marvel- 
lous pleasant  to  be  going  to  the  cottages  once 
more,  nursing  the  babes,  chatting  with  the  good 


no         Lady  Rosamond's  Boole  ;  at  f 

wives,  and  making  acquaintance  with  the  child- 
ren. Mistress  Bullen  sometimes  goes  with  us, 
and  the  men  are  loud  in  praise  of  her  beauty  and 
kindness.  I  don't  think  the  women  fancy  her  so 
much,  and  I  must  say  I  don't  fancy  her  at  all  any 
more. 

The  Queen  is  very  liberal,  and  gives  with  an 
open  hand  ;  but  she  is  shrewd,  too,  and  will  not 
be  imposed  upon.  Roger  Smith,  whom  she  met 
in  the  street,  told  her  Grace  a  pitiful  tale  of  his 
sick  wife  and  children,  and  his  want  of  work. 
She  said  but  little  at  the  time,  giving  him  a  small 
alms,  but  presently  she  turned  to  me  and  asked 
if  I  knew  anything  about  them.  I  told  her  that 
he  had  help  constantly  from  our  house  ;  besides 
that,  we  bought  fish  of  him,  whenever  we  could 
get  them. 

"  And  can  he  not  get  them  as  oft  as  you  need 
them  ?"  she  asked.  * 

I  told  her  I  knew  no  reason  why  he  could  not, 
as  the  sea  was  but  a  few  miles  away,  and  I  knew 
he  owned  a  boat ;  but  added  that  I  thought  he 
was  not  over  fond  of  work,  so  long  as  he  could 
get  bread  without.  She  made  no  remark  that 
day,  but  the  next  time  we  were  out,  she  asked  a 
little  urchin  who  was  playing  in  a  pool  of  dirty 
water,  where  Roger  Smith  lived.  He  put  his 
thumb  in  his  mouth  and  hung  down  his  head,  but 
presently  pointed  out  a  very  dirty  cottage,  with 
a  dunghill  before  the  door,  strewed  all  over  with 
fish-heads  and  the  like.     The  §mell  was  so  bad. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Ckrontt^es.       ill 

that  Mrs.  Patience  ventured  a  remonstrance,  but 
her  Grace  persevered,  and  we  entered  the  cottage. 
There  lay  Roger  on  the  settle  bed,  in  what  was 
plainly  a  drunken  sleep.  On  the  rude  table  lay  the 
remains  of  a  couple  of  fowls,  amid  fish-bones, 
fragments  of  bread,  and  ribs  of  some  animal  look- 
ing mightily  like  a  deer's,  while  a  slatternly  wo- 
man, and  a  bold,  impudent-looking  girl  were  just 
beginning  to  clear  away,  though  it  was  nearly 
nine  o'clock  of  the  morning.  It  was  clear  there 
had  been  a  debauch  over  night  ;  and  that,  what- 
ever else  might  be  needed,  there  was  no  want  of 
food.  Her  Grace  looked  deliberately  round  the 
room,  and  then  turned  away. 

"  What  do  you  please  to  want,  Madam  ?"  asked 
the  woman,  in  a  half  servile,  half  impudent  tone. 

"  I  heard  there  was  a  sick  woman  with  sick 
children  living  here  ;"  answered  her  Grace,  "  and 
that  they  were  in  want  of  food  ;  but  fowls,  and 
venison,  and  strong  waters,  and  a  man  asleep  at 
this  time  of  day,  are  no  arguments  either  of  pov- 
erty or  honesty." 

And  with  that  she  turned  and  left  the  house, 
without  another  word  said,  only  the  girl  gave  an 
insolent  laugh.  Dame  Lee,  on  whom  we  called 
afterward,  and  whom  we  found  spinning  of  fine 
thread,  though  she  is  above  eighty  years  old,  told 
us  that  the  Smiths  were  a  shame  and  scandal  to 
the  whole  village — that  the  housewife  herself  was 
no  better  than  she  should  be,  and  Roger  a  good 
ileal  worse, 


ii2        Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;    or, 

"  That  is  the  way  the  good  Sisters  get  imposed 
upon,  because  they  cannot  go  out  to  see  for  them- 
selves," said  she.  "  There  is  no  need  for  that 
family  ever  to  ask  an  alms,  and  the  same  is  true 
of  others  in  the  place ;  while  those  who  really 
need  help,  are  many  of  them  too  modest  to  ask, 
or  too  feeble  to  reach  the  gate,  or  hold  their  own 
amid  the  press  about  it." 

"  Can  you  direct  us  to  some  of  these  poor  souls 
of  whom  you  speak?"  asked  the  Queen.  Dame 
Lee  spoke  of  several,  and  pointed  out  their  dwell- 
ing-places to  us,  and  then  mentioned  another. 

"There  is  Magdalen  Jewell,  who  lives  alone 
by  herself  in  the  moor,  at  the  foot  of  Grey  Tor," 
said  she.  "  'Tis  a  lonesome  place,  and  perhaps 
your  ladyship  may  not  care  to  walk  so  far." 

"  How  far  ?"  asked  the  Queen. 

"  Nay,  'tis  but  a  scant  mile,  but  the  way  is 
somewhat  rough,"  answered  the  dame. 

"  And  is  this  Magdalen  of  whom  you  speak 
a  widow  ?"  asked  the  Queen. 

"  No  Madam,  she  hath  never  been  married. 
She  took  care  of  her  old  father  as  long  as  he 
lived,  and  was  a  most  dutiful  and  kind  daugh- 
ter to  him  ;  and  since  his  death  she  has  bided 
alone,  till  of  late  that  she  hath  adopted  a  little 
orphan  maid,  one  of  the  survivors  of  the  great 
wreck  last  winter.  Magdalen  owns  the  house  she 
lives  in,  and  a  small  garden  and  orchard,  which, 
with  the  thread  she  spins,  makes  most  part  of  her 
living.    I  fear  she  is  often  pinched,  but  she  never 


Tlie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.        213 

complains,  or  asks  for  help.  She  might  have 
changed  her  condition  many  times,  for  she  was 
wonderful  fair  when  I  first  knew  her,  and  of  good 
conditions,  and  she  is  a  well-favored  woman  even 
now  ;  but,  nobody  knows  why,  she  would  none 
of  her  suitors,  and  still  lives  alone,  save,  as  1 
said,  for  the  child  she  hath  adopted." 

"We  must  see  this  woman,  I  think,"  said  the 
Queen,  turning  to  Patience  and  myself.  "  And 
now,  dame,  can  we  do  naught  for  you  ?" 

The  old  woman  drew  herself  up  with  gentle 
pride. 

"  I  thank  your  goodness,  Madam,  but  I  have 
need  of  nothing  ;"  said  she.  "I  have  eight  sons 
living  hereabouts,  besides  two  sailing  on  the 
high  seas,  and  they  let  their  parents  want  for 
nothing.  My  husband  is  old  and  infirm,  but  he 
still  makes  a  shift  to  busy  himself  about  our  bit 
of  flax  land  and  our  orchard,  and  he  also  makes 
and  mends  nets,  and  with  a  good  husband  and 
dutiful  children,  I  have  no  need  to  ask  help  of 
any  one." 

"Ten  sons!"  repeated  the  Queen,  musingly, 
and  methought  very  sadly.  "You  have  indeed 
much  for  which  to  be  thankful.  How  long  have 
you  been  wedded  ?" 

"  Sixty  years,  Madam,  have  my  good  man  and 
I  lived  together  without  e'er  a  quarrel  or  a  wish 
for  change,"  answered  the  dame,  with  gentle 
pride.  "  We  have  had  our  troubles  and  our 
pinches,  specially  when  our  children  were  young, 


114       Lady  Rosamond 's  Booh  ;  or, 

and  my  eldest  child,  my  o^ly  maiden,  died  of  a 
long  waste  at  seventeen.  But  w~  won  through 
them  all  by  the  blessing  of  God,  apd  in  all  our 
troubles  kept  a  stout  and  loving  he^rt.  I  am 
sure  we  never  wished  ourselves  apart,  or  would 
have  spared  one  of  our  little  troublesome,  hungry 
brood.  I  wish  all  wedded  folk  could  say  as  much 
as  that  !" 

11  I  wish,  indeed,  they  might,"  said  the  Queen, 
with  another  sad  cloud  crossing  her  face  (and 
methought  I  saw  another  on  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Patience).  "Well,  dame,  since  Ave  can  bestow 
no  alms  upon  you,  will  you  not  bestow  one  upon 
us,  and  give  us  a  draught  of  milk  or  fair  water  ?" 

The  dame  was  evidently  well  pleased,  and 
bustled  about  to  bring  forth  her  milk  and  cream, 
her  brown  bread  and  honey,  and  a  dish  of  early 
apples.  The  Queen  ate  and  drank,  and  would 
have  us  do  the  same.  Mrs.  Bullen  said  she  was 
not  hungry. 

"  Then  you  may  eat  a  little  to  please  the  good 
woman,"  said  the  Queen,  speaking  in  French, 
and  more  sharply,  methought,  than  was  needful  ; 
but,  somehow,  I  think  she  is  apt  to  be  sharp  with 
Mistress  Anne.  "  I  have  seen  you  make  your 
court  before  now  by  eating  when  you  had  no 
need." 

Mistress  Anne  colored  as  red  as  fire,  but  she 
obeyed  without  a  word.  When  we  had  eaten 
and  drank,  her  Grace  took  from  her  breast  a  very 
small  gold  crucifix 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       Jf$ 

"  This  cross,  good  dame,  hath  had  the  blessing 
of  our  holy  Father  at  Rome,  and  holds,  beside, 
some  earth  from  the  holy  sepulchre.  I  pray  you 
keep  it  as  an  aid  to  your  devotion  and  a  remem- 
brance of  Queen  Catherine ;  and  when  you  look 
thereon,  give  me  the  benefit  of  your  prayers.'* 

"  There  now  is  a  woman  to  be  envied,  if  envy 
were  not  a  sin,"  said  her  Grace,  as  we  quitted  the 
house.     "  Think  you  not  so,  maidens  ?" 

"  Not  I,  for  one,  Madam,"  answered  Mistress 
Bullen.  "  What  has  her  life  been  but  one  long 
slavery  ?  What  pleasure  is  there  in  such  a  life — 
just  mending,  and  saving,  and  cooking,  and 
washing — nursing  stupid  children,  and  waiting  on 
her  clod  of  a  husband.  Methinks  one  hour  of 
real  life,  such  as  we  had  at  the  French  court, 
would  be  worth  it  all  !" 

"  And  you,  maiden,  what  do  you  think  ?"  asked 
her  Grace,  turning  to  me. 

"It  was  a  saying  of  my  honored  mother's  that 
love  makes  easy  service,  Madam,"  I  answered. 
"  I  think  such  a  life  as  that  of  the  good  dame's 
may  be  as  noble  and  honorable  in  the  sight  of 
God,  as  that  of  any  woman  in  the  world." 

"That  is  a  strange  speech  for  a  nun,"  said  Mrs. 
Anne,  with  her  usual  levity.  "  What,  as  honor- 
able as  that  of  a  religious  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  she  were  called  to  it,"  I  answered. 

"And  to  last  so  long — sixty  years  of  drudging 
and  poverty,"  said  Mrs.  Anne,  with  a  shudder: 
"  No,  no  !     A  short  life  and  a  merry  one  for  me." 


1 1 6        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  oY, 

\I  thought  of  these  words  many  a  time  after  that 
short  and  merry  life  had  come  to  its  miserable 
close,  and  that  fair  head,  with  the  crown  it  coveted 
and  wrought  for,  lay  together  on  the  scaffold.  I 
did  never  believe  the  shameful  charges  brought 
against  her,  by  which  her  death  was  com- 
passed, but  'tis  impossible  to  acquit  her  of  great 
lightness  of  conduct,  and  want  of  womanly  delicacy, 
or  of  the  worse  faults  of  lawless  ambition  and 
treachery  against  her  kind  mistress,  than  whom 
no  one  need  wish  a  better.  Though  I  am  and  have 
long  been  of  the  reformed  religion,  my  feelings  have 
ever  been  on  the  side  of  Queen  Catherine] 

The  next  day  we  went  across  the  moor,  to  see 
the  woman,   Magdalen  Jewell,   of  whom    Dame 
Lee  had  told  us.     Mistress  Anne  was  not  with 
us,  pleading  a  headache  as  an  excuse,  and  I  was 
not   sorry  to   miss   her    company,   but   we   had 
Master  Griffith  instead,  and  a  serving  man,  who 
led  the  Queen's  donkey.     The  rest  of  us  walked  ; 
and  oh,  what  joy  it  was  to  me  to  feel  the  springy 
turf  under  foot,  and  smell  the  fresh  odors  of  the 
moorland  once  more  !     How  beautiful  the  world 
is  !     I  can't  think  why  God  hath  made  it  so  fair, 
and  then  set  it  before  us  as  our  highest  duty  to 
shut    ourselves    from    it    between    stone   walls. 
"  The  earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the  fulness  there- 
of," we  sing  in  the  Venite,  and  all  the  Psalms 
are  full  of  such  thoughts.     But  this  is  beside  the 
matter. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       ilj 

We  had  a  charming  walk  over  the  high,  breezy 
moor,  and  Master  Griffith  entertained  us  with 
remembrances  of  his  own  country  of  Wales, 
where  he  says  the  people  speak  a  language  of 
their  own,  as  they  do  in  some  parts  of  Cornwall. 
The  Queen  riding  before  us,  would  now  and  then 
put  in  a  word  to  keep  him  going.  Presently  the 
path  dipped  into  a  little  hollow,  and  there  we 
saw  the  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the  Tor  which 
had  been  our  landmark  all  the  way.  'Twas  to 
my  mind  more  like  a  nest  than  a  cottage,  so 
small  was  it,  and  so  covered  (where  the  vine 
gave  the  stones  leave  to  show  themselves)  with 
gray  and  yellow  lichens.  A  humble  porch  well 
shaded  with  a  great  standard  pear,  and  fragrant 
with  honeysuckle  and  sweetbriar,  held  the  good 
woman's  chair,  wherein  lay  a  spindle  and  distaff. 
Magdalen  herself  was  at  work  in  her  garden, 
gathering  of  herbs  to  dry,  and  attended  by  quite 
a  retinue.  There  was  a  very  old  dog  lying  blink- 
ing in  the  sunshine,  and  a  motherly  cat  with  two 
or  three  mischievous  kittlings,  and  also  a  lame 
and  tame  goose,  which  attended  her  mistress' 
footsteps,  and  now  and  then  with  hisses  and  out- 
spread wings  chased  away  the  kittlings,  when 
they  made  too  free.  A  more  important  member 
of  the  party  was  the  little  orphan  maid,  a  child 
of  some  five  years,  who  with  grave  and  womanly 
industry,  was  carrying  away  the  cut  herbs,  and 
spreading  them  in  the  shade  to  dry.  A  row  of 
bee-hives  reached  all  the  length  of  the  garden 


ti8         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

wall,  and  before  them  a  bed  of  sweet  flowers  and 
herbs,  such  as  bees  love.  On  one  side  was  a  field 
in  which  fed  a  cow  and  an  ass,  while  on  the  other 
was  a  small  and  old,  but  well-tended  orchard, 
and  at  the  bottom  of  this  a  still,  glassy  pool. 
Behind  all,  rose  the  gray,  steep  Tor,  like  a  pro- 
tecting fortress.  It  was  a  lovely  picture,  and  one 
on  which  I  could  have  gazed  an  hour  ;  but  pre- 
sently, the  woman  catching  sight  of  us,  laid  aside 
her  industry,  and  came  forward  to  give  us  wel- 
come, which  she  did  I  must  say  somewhat  stiffly 
at  the  first.  But  she  presently  thawed  into  more 
cordiality  under  the  charm  of  her  Grace's  manner, 
and  remarking  that  we  had  had  a  long  walk,  she 
busied  herself  to  provide  refreshment. 

"  Pray  do  not  incommode  yourself,  my  good 
woman,"  said  the  Queen  :  "  we  have  come  but 
from  the  convent  yonder,  where  I  am  at  present 
abiding,  and  this  is  one  of  the  young  pupils,  whom 
I  dare  say  you  have  seen." 

"  Not  I,  madam !"  she  answered,  somewhat 
bluntly  ;  "  I  have  no  errand  to  take  me  to  the 
convent  since  I  desire  no  alms  at  the  hands  of 
the  ladies,  and  I  have  nought  to  sell  but  that 
which  their  own  gardens  supply." 

"  You  might  go  thither  for  purposes  of  devo- 
tion," said  the  Queen  :  "  'tis  a  great  privilege  to 
worship  in  a  church  possessed  of  so  many  holy 
relics." 

A  strange  look,  methought,  passed  over  the 
soman's  face,  as  her  Grace  spoke,  but  she  made 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       ttg 

no  answer  to  the  Queen,  only  to  press  us  to  eat 
and  drink. 

"  And  you  live  here  quite  alone,  save  this 
child  ?"  said  the  Queen,  after  she  had  asked  and 
heard  an  account  of  the  little  maiden. 

11  Aye,  madam,  ever  since  my  old  father  died, 
some  ten  years  since,  till  this  child  was  sent  me, 
as  it  were." 

"  But  had  you  no  brother,  or  other  relative  ?" 
Again  the  strange  look  crossed  Magdalen's  face, 
as  she  answered  :  "  I  had  a  brother  once,  and  for 
aught  I  know  he  may  be  living  now  ;  but  'tis 
long  since  I  have  seen  or  heard  from  him.  Oui 
paths  went  different  ways." 

11  How  so  ?"  asked  the  Queen. 

"  Because  I  chose  to  maintain  my  old  father  in 
his  helplessness,  and  he  chose  to  bestow  himself 
in  yonder  abbey  of  Glastonbury,  with  his  portion 
of  my  gaffer's  goods." 

"  Doubtless  he  chose  wisely  !"  she  added,  with 
a  scorn  which  I  cannot  describe  :  "  'twas  an 
easier  life  than  tilling  barren  land,  and  bearing 
with  the  many  humors  of  a  childish,  testy  old 
man." 

"You  should  not  speak  so  of  your  brother," 
said  the  Queen,  somewhat  severely. 

"You  are  right,  Madam  ;"  answered  Magdalen, 
softening  :  "  scorn  becomes  not  any  sinner,  whose 
own  transgressions  have  been  many.  Neverthe- 
less, under  your  favor,  I  believe  my  brother  did 
mistake  his  duty  in  this  thing." 


120  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

"  Yet  you  yourself  have  chosen  a  single  life,  it 
seems  !"  said  the  Queen.     M  Why  was  that  ?n 

"  I  did  not  choose  it,"  she  said  quietly,  but  yet 
her  face  was  moved.  "  'Twas  so  ordered  for  me, 
and  I  make  the  best  of  it.  I  doubt  not  many 
married  women  are  happier  than  I  ;  but  yourself 
must  sec,  Madam,  that  no  single  woman,  so  she 
be  good  and  virtuous,  can  possibly  be  as  miser- 
able as  is  many  a  good  and  virtuous  wife,  through 
no  fault  of  her  own  ;  aye — and  while  she  hath 
nothing  of  which  she  may  complain  before  the 
world." 

"Tis  even  so!"  said  her  Grace;  and  again  I 
jaw  the  cloud  upon  her  brow.  I  wonder  if  she  is 
inhappy  with  her  husband  ?  After  a  little  silence, 
'die  Queen  fell  to  talking  of  the  child,  and  after 
some  discourse,  she  offered  to  leave  with  the 
parish  priest  such  a  sum  of  money  as  should  be  a 
dower  for  the  girl,  whether  she  should  marry  or 
enter  a  convent.  Magdalen  colored  and  hesi- 
tated. 

11 1  thank  you  much  for  your  kindness,"  said 
she,  at  last :  "  I  have  never  yet  received  an  alms, 
but  the  child  is  an  orphan,  and  hath  no  earthly 
protection  but  myself;  and  should  I  die  before 
my  brother,  he,  or  the  men  with  whom  he  has 
placed  himself,  would  take  that  small  portion  of 
goods  which  belongs  to  me,  and  little  Catherine 
would  be  left  wholly  destitute.  I  believe  Sir 
John,  the  village  priest,  to  be  a  good  man,  so  far 
as  his  lights  go,  and  anything  you  may  be  pleased 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       T2J 

to  place  in  his  hands  will  be  safe.  I  therefore 
accept  your  offer  and  thank  you  with  all  my  heart ; 
and  may  the  blessing  of  the  God  of  the  fatherless 
abide  upon  you." 

"  That  seems  like  a  good  woman,"  remarked 
Master  Griffith  to  Mistress  Patience,  after  we  had 
left  the  cottage. 

"  Yet  I  liked  not  her  saying  about  the  priest," 
returned  Mrs.  Patience,  austerely.  *'  What  did 
she  mean  by  her  limitation — '  A  good  man,  so 
far  as  his  lights  go,'  forsooth  !  What  is  she,  to 
judge  of  his  lights  ?  Methinks  the  saying  savored 
somewhat  too  much  of  Lollardie,  or  Lutheran- 
ism. 

"Then,  if  I  thought  so,  I  would  not  say  so," 
said  Master  Griffith,  in  a  low  tone.  "  You  would 
not  like  to  cast  a  suspicion  on  the  poor  creature, 
which  might  bring  her  to  the  stake  at  last." 

Whereat  Mistress  Patience  murmured  some- 
thing under  her  breath  about  soft-heartedness 
toward  heretics  being  treason  to  the  Church  ; 
but  she  added  no  more.  I  think  Master  Griffith 
hath  great  influence  over  her,  and  if  I  may  ven- 
ture to  say  so,  over  his  mistress  as  well  ;  and  I 
wonder  not  at  it,  for  he  hath  a  calm,  wise  way 
with  him,  and  a  considerate  manner  of  speaking, 
which  seems  to  carry  much  weight.  It  was  odd, 
certainly,  what  Magdalen  Jewell  said  about  the 
priest,  and  also  about  her  brother.  It  does  seem 
hard  that  he  should  have  gone  away  and  left  her 
to  bear  the  whole  burdec  of  nursing  and  main- 


t22        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

taining  her  father,  and  yet,  as  we  are  taught  to 
believe,  it  is  he  who  hath  chosen  the  better  part. 
Another  thing  which  struck  me  about  this  same 
Magdalen  was,  that  she  was  so  wonderful  well 
spoken,  for  a  woman  in  her  state  of  life.  Even 
her  accent  was  purer  than  that  of  the  women 
about  here,  and  she  used  marvellous  good  phrases, 
as  though  she  were  conversant  with  well-educa- 
ted people. 

This  was  the  last  of  our  walks.  To-morrow 
the  Queen  goes,  and  then  I  shall  fall  back  into 
my  old  way  of  life  again,  I  suppose — writing,  and 
working,  and  walking  in  the  garden  for  recreation. 
Well,  I  must  needs  be  content,  since  there  is  no 
other  prospect  before  me  for  my  whole  life.  It 
will  not  be  quite  so  monotonous  as  that  of  the 
poor  lady  who  lived  for  twenty  years  in  the 
Queen's  room,  and  never  looked  out. 

I  ought  to  say,  that  when  we  returned  from 
visiting  Magdalen  Jewell,  we  found  that  a  post 
had  arrived  with  letters  for  the  Queen,  and  also 
a  packet  for  Mistress  Anne,  who  seemed  wonder- 
ful pleased  with  her  news,  and  with  a  fine  ring 
which  she  said  her  brother  had  sent  her. 

"  Your  brother  is  very  generous,"  said  her  Grace, 
(and  I  saw  her  face  flush  and  her  eyes  flash.) 
"  Methinks  I  have  seen  that  same  ring  before. 
Tis  not  very  becoming  for  your  brother  to  make 
so  light  of  his  Majesty's  gifts,  as  to  bestow  them, 
even  on  his  sister." 

"  I  trust  your  Grace  will  be  so  good  as  not  to 


The  St.inio it- Corbet   Chronicles,       123 

betray  my  poor  brother's  carelessness  to  his  Ma- 
jesty," answered  Mrs.  Bullen,  with  an  air  and  tone 
of  meekness,  which  seemed  to  me  to  have  much 
of  mocking  therein.  "It  might  prove  the  ruin  of 
us  both." 

To  my  great  terror  and  amazement,  the  Queen 
turned  absolutely  pale  as  ashes,  and  put  out  her 
hand  for  support.  Both  Mrs.  Anne  and  myself 
sprang  forward,  but  she  recovered  herself  in  a 
moment,  and  her  color  came  back  again. 

"  Tis  nothing,"  said  she,  quietly.  "  I  think  the 
heat  was  too  much  for  me.  Patience,  your  arm  ; 
I  will  lie  down  awhile." 

The  glance  which  Patience  cast  on  Mrs.  Bul- 
len in  passing,  was  such  as  one  might  give  to  a 
viper  or  other  loathsome  reptile.  Mrs.  Bullen,  on 
her  part,  returned  it,  with  a  mocking  smile.  Pre- 
sently I  saw  her  in  the  garden  in  close  conference 
with  Amice,  as  indeed  I  have  done  several  times 
before.  I  cannot  guess  what  they  should  have  in 
common,  and  it  is  all  the  more  odd  that  I  know 
Amice  does  not  like  her. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


August  14.. 
ER  Grace  left  us  yesterday,  and  to-day 
Amice  and  I  have  been  helping  Mother 
Gertrude  to  put  her  rooms  to  rights,  and 
close  them  once  more. 
"How  lonely  they  look,"  said  I,  as  we  were 
going  round  closing  the  shutters.  "I  suppose 
they  will  always  be  called,  *  The  Queen's  Cham- 
bers,' after  this,  and  will  be  looked  on  as  a  kind 
of  hallowed  ground." 

"  They  will  always  be  hallowed  ground  to  me, 
I  am  sure,"  said  Amice,  so  warmly,  that  I  looked 
at  her  in  surprise. 

"Well,  well,  I  am  not  sorry  they  are  empty 
once  more,"  said  Mother  Gertrude  ;  "  I  trust  now 
we  shall  go  back  to  our  old  quiet  ways,  and  at 
least  we  shall  have  no  more  singing  of  love  songs 
and  receiving  of  love-tokens,  within  these  holy 
walls.  Yonder  fair  Bullen  is  no  inmate  for  such 
a  place  as  this." 

"  Why  should  you  think  of  love-tokens,  dear 
Mother  ?"  I  asked,  feeling  my  cheeks  burn,  and 
typndering  whether  she  referred  \q  me,  though  in- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       12 3 

deed  I  might  have  known  she  did  not.     'Tis  not 
her  way  to  hint  at  anything. 

"  Because  Mistress  Anne  must  needs  show  me 
her  fine  diamond  ring,  and  tell  me  in  a  whisper 
how  it  was  a  token  from  a  gallant  gentleman,  as 
great  as  any  in  this  realm." 

M  She  said  it  came  from  her  brother,"  said  I,  un- 
guardedly, and  then  I  all  at  once  remembered 
what  she  had  said  in  the  presence,  and  the  Queen's 
answer.  Can  it  be  that  her  Grace  was  jealous, 
and  that  she  had  cause  for  jealousy  ?  However, 
that  is  no  business  for  me. 

Mrs.  Bullen  must  needs  watch  her  chance  and 
ask  me  whether  I  had  no  message  or  token  for 
my  cousin  ?  I  told  her  no — that  in  my  position, 
it  did  not  become  me  to  be  sending  messages  or 
tokens  :  but  I  did  not  add  what  I  thought — that 
if  I  had  any  such  message,  she  would  be  the  la^t 
person  I  should  trust  therewith. 

"  Well,  well,  I  meant  you    naught    but  kind- 
ness," said  she.     "  I  dare  say  our  gay  squire  wont 
break  his  heart." 
i     To  which  I  made  no  answer. 

Mother  Superior  gave  me  leave  to  write  to  my 
father  by  Master  Griffith,  who  kindly  offered  to 
carry  a  letter.  When  I  had  finished,  I  carried  it 
to  her,  as  in  duty  bound.  She  just  glanced  at  it, 
and  then  opening  a  drawer,  she  took  therefrom 
poor  Richard's  packet  and  enclosed  all  together, 
sealing  them  securely,  and  said  she  would  give 
th?  parcel  into  Master  Griffith's  bands,  together 


126  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

with  certain  letters  of  her  own.  My  heart  gave  a 
great  leap  at  sight  of  the  packet,  and  I  must  con- 
fess a  great  ache  when  I  saw  it  sealed  up  again, 
because  I  knew  how  sadly  Richard  would  feel  at 
having  his  poor  little  letter  and  token  returned 
on  his  hands  ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  he  meant  no 
harm  in  sending  them,  though  it  was  ill  con- 
sidered. 

The  Queen  gave  magnificently  to  the  Church 
and  house  on  leaving,  and  also  bestowed  presents 
on  those  members  of  the  family  who  have  waited 
on  her,  mostly  books  of  devotion,  beads,  and 
sacred  pictures.  She  hath  also  provided  for  an 
annual  dole  of  bread  and  clothing  on  her  birth- 
day to  all  the  poor  of  the  village. 


a 


CHAPTER  XV. 


August  25, 

E  have  begun  the  general  reformation 
which  Mother  Superior  promised  us.  I 
suppose,  like  other  storms,  it  will  clear 
the  air  when  all  is  done,  but  at  present 
it  raises  a  good  deal  of  dust,  and  makes  every 
body  uncomfortable. 

Mother  Gabrielle  and  Mother  Gertrude  still 
keep  their  old  places,  the  one  as  sacristine,  the 
other  as  mistress  of  the  novices  and  pupils.  But 
Sister  Catherine  is  discharged  of  the  care  of  the 
wardrobe,  and  Sister  Bridget,  of  all  people,  set  in 
her  place.  Sister  Bonaventure  takes  Sister  Bridg- 
et's place  in  the  laundry,  and  Sister  Mary  Paula  is 
in  charge  of  the  kitchen,  which  I  fancy  she  does 
not  like  over  well,  though  she  says  nothing.  Sister 
Mary  Agnes  has  the  accounts,  and  Sister  Placida 
the  alms.  As  to  Sister  Catherine,  she  is  nowhere 
and  nobody,  which  I  suppose  will  give  her  all  the 
more  time  to  meddle  with  everybody.  She  has 
been  in  retreat  for  a  week,  and  is  still  very  mum 
and  keeps  quiet.  I  have  still  charge  of  the  li- 
brary, to  my  great  joy,  and  Amice  is  by  special 


12&  Lady  Rosamond's  Book,  cr, 

favor  appointed  to  help  Mother  Gabrielle  in  the 
sacristy.  Our  rules  are  to  be  more  strictly  en- 
forced in  future.  No  more  exclusive  friendships 
are  to  be  permitted.  Silence  is  to  be  rigidly 
enforced,  and  in  short  we  are  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf  entirely.  A  great  deal  of  needlework  is  to 
be  put  in  hand  directly,  including  new  altar 
covers  for  the  shrine  of  Saint  Ethelburga  in  the 
garden,  for  which  her  Grace  hath  given  very  rich 
materials.  Besides  we  are  to  make  many 
garments  for  the  poor  against  winter. 

A  good  many  wry  faces  have  been  made  over 
all  these  changes.  For  my  own  part  I  like  them 
well  enough.  I  think  people  are  always  more 
comfortable  when  each  one  knows  his  own  place 
and  his  own  work.  Perhaps  I  should  feel  differ 
ently  if  I  had  been  put  out  of  office,  like  Sister 
Catherine,  or  set  to  work  I  did  not  like,  as  was 
Sister  Mary  Paula.  Poor  Sister  Catherine  ! 
She  little  thought  how  it  was  to  end.  when  she 
used  to  talk  about  the  enforcement  of  discipline. 
I  must  say,  that  as  far  as  the  wardrobe  goes,  she 
had  no  right  to  complain,  for  she  did  keep  every- 
thing at  sixes  and  sevens,  so  that  two  whole 
pieces  of  nice  black  serge  were  spoiled  by  her 
negligence,  and  many  of  the  spare  napkins  were 
moulded  through  and  through.  I  ventured  to  ask 
Mother  Gertrude  hew  she  thought  Sister  Pridgct 
would  succeed. 

11  Why,    well    enough,   child,"   she    answered. 
M  Sister   Bridget's  mind  Is  not  very  bright,  but 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles. 


129 


she  always  gives  the  whole  of  it  to  whatever  she 
does." 

*'  I  have  noticed  that,"  said  I.  "  If  she  is  fold- 
ing a  napkin,  or  ironing  an  apron,  you  may  ask 
her  as  many  questions  as  you  will,  and  you  will 
get  no  answer  from  her  till  she  has  done  folding 
or  ironing,  as  the  case  may  be." 

"Just  so  ;  and  she  hath  another  good  quality, 
in  that  she  will  take  advice.  When  she  does  not 
know  what  to  do  she  will  ask,  which  is  to  rny 
mind  a  greater  argument  of  humility  than  any 
kissings  of  the  floor,  or  such  like  perform- 
ances." 

Amice  and  I  do  not  see  as  much  of  each  other 
?.s  we  used,  but  she  is  always  loving  when  we 
meet.  She  appears  to  me,  somehow,  very  greatly 
changed.  At  times  she  seems  to  have  an  almost 
heavenly  calmness  and  serenity  in  her  face  ;  at 
others  she  seems  sad  and  anxious,  but  she  is 
always  kind  and  gentle.  She  is  much  in  prayer, 
und  reads  diligently  in  the  Psalter,  which  the 
Queen  gave  her.  Sister  Gabrielle  has  grown 
very  fond  of  her,  though  she  was  vexed  at  first 
that  Amice  was  assigned  to  her  instead  of  myself ; 
but  she  says  Amice  is  so  gentle  and  humble,  so 
anxious  to  please,  and  to  improve  herself  in  those 
points  wherein  she  is  deficient,  that  she  cannot 
but  love  the  child.  I  have,  at  Amice's  own  re- 
quest, taught  her  all  tfie  lace  and  darning  stitches 
I  know,  and  she practises  them  diligently,  though 


IW 


Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 


she  used  to  despise  them.  I  am  teaching  her  tc 
knit  stockings,  an  art  I  learned  of  Mistress  Pa- 
tience, and  we  mean  to  have  a  pair  made  for  the 
Bishop  against  his  next  visit. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


St.  MichaeVs  Eve,  Sept.  28. 
T  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  touched 
this  book,  and  many  things  have  hap- 
pened. Ours  is  now  a  sad  household. 
Out  of  the  twenty-three  professed  Sisters 
and  novices  who  used  to  meet  in  the  choir,  but 
fifteen  remain.  The  rest  lie  under  the  turf  in  our 
cemetery.  Mother  Gabrielle  is  gone,  and  poor 
Sister  Bridget,  and  of  the  novices,  Sisters  Mary 
Frances  and  Agatha.  Mother  Gertude  had  the 
disease,  but  was  spared.  Three  others  recovered. 
The  rest  were  not  attacked.  The  disease  was 
the  dreadful  Sweating  sickness.  It  began  first  in 
the  village,  in  the  household  of  that  same  Roger 
Smith,  but  broke  out  in  three  or  four  other  cot- 
tages the  same  day.  The  news  was  brought  to 
the  convent  gates  the  next  morning  by  some 
who  came  for  alms,  as  they  use  to  do  on  Wed- 
nesdays and  Fridays,  and  produced  great  con- 
sternation. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?"  said  Sister  Cathe- 
rine, while  the  elders  wer?  in  conference  b> 
themselves. 


fj2  Lady  Rosamond *s  Book  ;  or, 

"  We  shall  do  as  we  are  told,  I  suppose,"  an- 
swered Sister  Bridget,  with  her  wonted  simplicity. 

"  But  don't  you  suppose  Mother  Superior  will 
order  the  gates  to  be  shut,  and  no  communication 
held  with  the  villagers  ?"  said  Sister  Mary  Paula. 

u  I  should  certainly  suppose  not  ;"  answered 
Sister  Placida.  "  Think  what  you  are  saying,  dear 
Sister  !  Would  you  deprive  the  poor  souls  of 
their  alms,  just  when  they  are  most  wanted  ?  Me- 
thinks  it 'would  ill  become  religious  women  to 
show  such  cowardly  fears." 

"  Beside  that  I  don't  believe  it  would  make  any 
difference,"  said  I.  "  Master  Ellenwood,  who  has 
studied  medicine,  told  my  father  the  disease  was 
not  so  much  infectious,  as  in  the  air.  I  wish  we 
might  go  out  among  the  poor  folk,  to  see  what 
they  need,  and  help  to  nurse  the  sick,  as  my 
mother  and  her  women  used  to  do." 

"  Rosamond  is  always  ready  for  any  chance  to 
break  her  enclosure,"  said  Sister  Catherine,  char- 
itable as  usual.  •'  She  would  even  welcome  the 
pestilence,  if  it  gave  her  a  pretext  to  get  outside 
her  convent  walls." 

li  Sister  Catherine,"  said  Sister  Placida,  reprov- 
ingly, "you  are  wrong  to  speak  so  to  the  child. 
Why  should  you  be  so  ready  to  put  a  wrong  con- 
struction on  her  words?  I  am  suie  the  wish  is 
natural  enough.  I  had  thought  of  the  same  thing 
myself." 

14  O  yes,  I  dare  say,"  retorted  Sister  Catherine. 
And  then,  with  one  of  her  sudden  changes,  "  but  I 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       IJJ 

am  wrong  to  answer  you  so,  Sister.  It  is  my  part 
to  accept  even  undeserved  reproof  with  humility, 
and  be  thankful  that  I  am  despised." 

"  Nonsense,"  returned  Sister  Placida,  who  is 
by  no  means  so  placid  as  her  name,  "  I  think  you 
would  show  more  humility  by  considering  whether 
the  reproof  was  not  deserved.  As  to  being  thank- 
ful for  being  despised,  that  is  to  my  mind  a  little 
too  much  like  being  thankful  for  another's  sin." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  in  order  to  being  despised,  there  must 
needs  be  some  one  to  despise  you,  child,  and  is 
not  contempt  a  sin  ?" 

I  do  like  Sister  Placida,  though  she  is  just  as 
often  sharp  with  me  as  Sister  Catherine,  but  it  is 
in  such  a  different  way. 

"  Anyhow,  I  hope  they  wont  shut  out  the  poor 
folk,"  said  Sister  Bridget. 

"  Who  is  talking  about  shutting  out  the  poor 
folk  ?"  asked  Mother  Gertrude's  voice,  coming  in 
sharp  and  clear  as  usual,  (by  the  way  I  ought  to 
call  her  Mother  Assistant  now,  but  I  never  can 
remember  to  do  so.)  "  Children,  why  are  you  all 
loitering  here,  instead  of  being  about  your  busi- 
ness in  the  house  ?  Let  every  one  set  about  her 
duty  just  as  usual,  and  at  obedience,  you  will  hear 
what  has  been  decided." 

["  Obedience  is  that  hour  in  a  convent  when  the 
nuns  assemble  with  the  Superior  to  give  an  account 
of  their  labors,  to  receive  special  charges,  and  not 


rj4        Lady  Rosamonds  Book;  or, 

seldom  special  reproofs  as  well.  In  our  house  this 
gathering  took  place  just  after  morning  recreation. 
Annie  and  I,  not  being  even  regular  postulants, 
had  no  business  there,  and  since  the  reformation  in 
the  house,  we  have  never  attended,  but  we  were 
called  in  to-day,  and  took  our  places  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  line,  and  therefore  next  the  Superior,  who 
addressed  us  in  few  but  weighty  words,  which  I 
will  set  down  as  well  as  I  can  remember  thcm."\ 

There  was  no  doubt,  she  said,  that  the  pestilence 
known  as  the  sweating  sickness  had  broken  out 
in  the  village,  and  we  might  with  reason  expect 
its  appearance  among  ourselves,  at  any  time. 
She  said  she  had  heard  with  sorrow  that  some  of 
her  children  had  desired  to  have  the  gates  closed 
against  the  poor  folk  who  used  to  come  for  alms. 
Such  cowardliness  as  this  was  unbecoming  to  any- 
well-born  lady,  and  above  all  to  religious,  who 
were  doubly  bound  to  set  a  good  example  of 
courage  and  resignation :  but  she  was  willing  to 
think  this  only  a  momentary  failing,  which  a 
second  thought  would  correct ;  and  she  bade  us 
consider  that  there  would  be  no  use  in  shutting 
the  gates  now,  since  they  were  opened  yesterday, 
as  usual. 

Then  she  told  us  what  she,  with  the  advice  of 
our  confessor  and  the  other  elders,  had  decided 
upon.  The  doles  were  to  be  given  out  at  the 
outer  gate,  by  the  proper  officers,  only  they  were 
to  be  given  every  day,  instead  of  Wednesdays  and 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       ijj 

Fridays.  The  two  distributing  Sisters  were  to  be 
helped  by  two  others,  taken  in  turn  from  the  pro- 
fessed, to  hand  the  things  as  they  were  wanted. 
All  embroidery,  with  other  unnecessary  work  of 
every  kind,  was  to  be  laid  aside,  and  all  were  to 
employ  themselves  under  the  direction  of  the 
Mother  Assistant  and  herself  in  making  linen 
and  in  preparing  food,  cordials,  and  drinks  for  the 
poor.  If  any  Sister  felt  herself  ill  in  any  way, 
she  was  at  once  to  repair  to  the  infirmary,  and 
report  herself  to  Sister  Placida.  Finally,  we 
were  all  to  have  good  courage,  to  give  ourselves 
as  much  as  possible  to  prayer,  and  such  religious 
meditation  as  should  keep  us  in  a  calm,  cheerful, 
and  recollected  frame  of  mind,  observing  our  hours 
of  recreation  as  usual  ;  and  she  added  that  no- 
body was  to  presume  to  take  on  herself  any  extra 
penances  or  exercises  without  express  permission 
from  her  superior  or  confessor. 

"  We  are  all  under  sentence  of  death,  dear  child- 
ren, as  you  know  !"  concluded  Mother,  "  and  it 
matters  little  how  our  dismissal  comes,  so  we  are 
ready.  Let  us  all  confess  ourselves,  so  that  the 
weight,  at  least,  of  mortal  sin  may  not  rest  on 
our  consciences  here,  or  go  with  us  into  the  other 
world.  If  we  are  called  to  suffer,  let  us  accept 
those  sufferings  as  an  atonement  for  our  sins, 
considering  that  the  more  we  have  to  endure 
here,  the  less  \^e  may  believe  will  be  the  pains  of 
purgatory  hereafter.     As  for  these  children,"  she 


fj6         Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

added,  turning  to  Amice  and  myself,  who  stood 
next  her,  "  what  shall  I  say  to  them  ?" 

"  Say,  dear  Mother,  that  we  may  take  our  full 
share  of  work  and  risk  with  the  Sisters  !"  exclaim- 
ed Amice,  kneeling  before  her  ;  "  I  am  sure  I 
speak  for  Rosamond  as  well  as  myself,  when  I  say 
that  is  what  we  desire  most  of  all,  is  it  not, 
Rosamond  ?" 

"  Surely,"  I  answered,  as  I  knelt  by  her  side  : 
"  I  ask  nothing  more  than  that." 

"  And  what  becomes  of  the  Latin  and  Music 
lessons,  and  the  embroidery,  and  our  learned 
librarian's  translations  ?"  asked  Mother  Superior, 
smiling  on  us. 

"  They  can  wait,"  I  answered. 

11  And  surely,  dearest  Mother,  the  lessons  we 
shall  learn  will  be  far  more  valuable  than  any 
Latin  or  music,"  added  Amice. 

"  Well,  well,  be  it  as  you  will !"  said  dear 
Mother,  laying  her  hands  on  our  heads  as  we 
knelt  before  her.  "  Surely,  dear  children,  none 
of  us  will  show  any  fear  or  reluctance,  since  these 
babes  set  us  such  a  good  example.  Well,  hold 
yourselves  ready,  my  little  ones,  and  wherever 
you  are  wanted,  there  shall  you  be  sent." 

That  afternoon  there  was  a  great  bustle  in  the 
wardrobe  ;  taking  down  of  linen,  and  cutting  out 
of  shifts  and  bed-gowns,  and  the  like,  and  in  the 
still-room  and  kitchen  as  well,  with  preparing  of 
medicines,  chiefly  cordial  and  restoratives,  and 
mild  drinks,  such  as  barley  and  apple   waters, 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       13? 

and  the  infusion  of  lime  blossoms,  balm  and  mint. 
This  was  by  the  advice  of  Mother  Mary  Monica, 
who  has  seen  the  disease  before,  and  understands 
its  right  treatment.  She  says  that  those  who  on 
the  first  sign  of  the  disorder  took  to  their  beds 
and  remained  there  for  twenty-four  hours,  mod- 
erately covered,  and  perfectly  quiet,  and  drinking 
of  mild  drinks,  neither  very  hot,  nor  stimulating, 
nor  yet  cold,  almost  all  recovered ;  but  that 
purges,  exercise,  hot  or  cold  drinks  and  stimu- 
lants, were  equally  fatal.*  The  dear  old  Mother 
has  seemed  failing  of  late,  but  this  alarm  has 
roused  her  up  and  made  her  like  a  young  woman 
again. 

Thus  things  went  on  for  more  than  a  week. 
We  heard  of  great  suffering  among  the  villagers 
for  lack  of  nurses  who  knew  how  to  treat  the  dis- 
ease, and  also  because  from  selfish  fear  of  taking 
the  pestilence  people  refused  to  go  near  the  sick 
and  dying.  One  day  Mother  Superior  was  called 
to  the  grate,  and  presently  sent  for  me  to  the 
parlor,  where  I  found  her  talking  through  the 
grate  to  a  woman  whom  I  at  once  knew  as 
Magdalen  Jewell  of  Torpond.  Hers  is  not  a  face 
to  be  forgotten. 

"This  good  woman  says  she  believes  you  were 
at  her  house  with  her  Grace,"  says  Mother. 

I  answered  that  I  was  so,  and  added  that  her 


*  This  is  Hall's  account  of    that  strange  visitation,  nhich  he  saw 
through.  L.  E.  G. 


TjS        Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

Grace  did  much  commend  the  neatness  of  the 
place  and  the  kindness  of  Magdalen  in  taking  the 
little  one.     I  saw  Magdalen's  face  work. 

"The  babe  hath  been  taken  home  !"  said  she, 
almost  sternly :  "  God's  will  be  done  !  I  have 
been  telling  these  ladies  that  there  are  divers 
orphan  maids  in  the  village  (left  so  by  this  sick- 
ness), who  are  running  wild,  and  are  like  either 
to  die  for  lack  of  care,  or  worse,  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  gypsies  and  other  lawless  persons, 
whom  this  pestilence  seems  to  have  let  loose  to 
roam  about  this  wretched  land." 

"  Are  there  so  many  dead  in  the  village  ?" 
asked  Mother  Gertrude. 

"  There  is  not  a  house  where  there  is  or  hath 
not  been  one  dead  !"  answered  Magdalen  ;  "  and 
the  terror  is  worse  than  the  pestilence  ;  children 
are  deserted  by  parents,  and  they  in  their  turn 
by  children,  and  'tis  the  same  with  all  other  re- 
lations.    'Tis  a  woeful  spectacle  !" 

"Could  not  you  yourself  take  these  poor  babes 
to  your  home,  since  you  have  one  ?"  asked 
Mother  Gertrude. 

"  I  cannot  be  spared,  madam,"  answered 
Magdalen  :  "I  must  nurse  the  sick." 

"  That  is  very  good  in  you,  and  you  must  take 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  you  are  thereby  lay- 
ing up  merit  for  yourself  !"  said  Mother  Superior. 

I  saw  an  odd  expression  pass  over  Magdalen's 
face,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"And   you   think  we  might  take  these  babes 


Tste  Stanton- Corbet   Chronicles,       ijp 

and   care   for    them,    at    least    till    the  present 
emergency  is  passed  ?"  said  Mother. 

"  Nay,  madam,  I  did  but  state  the  case  to  you,* 
answered  Magdalen;  "'tis  not  for  me  to  pre- 
sume to  offer  advice." 

"  But  what  to  do  with  them,  if  we  took  them  ?" 
said  Mother  Superior,  in  a  musing  tone.  Then 
catching  my  eye,  which  I  suppose  ought  to  have 
been  on  the  floor  instead  of  on  her  face  :  "  Here 
is  Rosamond,  with  a  ready-made  plan,  as  usual. 
Well,  child,  you  have  permission  to  speak.  What 
is  brewing  under  that  eager  face  ?" 

"I  was  thinking,  dear  Mother,  that  I  am  used 
to  young  children,"  said  I :  "  why  could  I  not 
take  these  little  maids  into  one  of  the  rooms 
called  the  Queen's  room,  and  tend  them  there  ? 
I  suppose  there  are  not  many  of  them." 

"I  know  of  but  five  utterly  friendless  maids," 
answered  Magdalen. 

"  Then  I  am  sure  I  could  care  for  them,  with 
some  help  and  advice,"  said  I.  "  They  would  be 
away  from  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  *'ould  dis- 
turb no  one  ;  and  if  we  were  kept  in  health,  I 
might  teach  them  as  well." 

"  'Tis  a  good  thought,  but  we  must  do  nothing 
hastily,"  said  Mother  Superior.  "We  ought  to 
have  the  permission  of  our  visitor,  the  Bishop, 
but  he  is  now  in  Bristol,  and  some  days  must 
elapse  before  we  could  hear  from  him,  and  this 
seems  a  case  for  instant  action." 

"lam  sure  you  would  say  so,  madam,  could 


140        Lady  Rosamond 's  Book  ;  <>r, 

you  see  the  state  of  these  poor  babes  !"  returned 
Magdalen. 

"Well,  well,  come  to-morrow,  and  we  will 
see,"  said  Mother.  "  Meantime  the  holy  relics 
are  exposed  in  the  church  for  the  comfort  of  the 
faithful  in  this  trying  time.  You  had  better  visit 
them,  and  then  go  to  the  buttery  and  obtain 
some  refreshment." 

However,  she  did  neither  —  I  suppose  fiom 
want  of  time.  The  next  day  she  came  again, 
and  to  my  great  joy,  Mother  consented,  the  need 
being  so  great,  to  receive  the  five  little  maidens, 
who  were  placed  under  my  care  in  the  Queen's 
room — Mother  Mary  Monica,  at  her  own  earnest 
request,  being  allowed  to  remain  with  us  and 
oversee  our  proceedings.  We  began  v/ith  a  good 
washing  and  combing  all  round  (not  a  nice  piece 
of  work  by  any  means),  and  then  dressed  them 
in  clean  clothes,  of  which  we  had  a  plenty  by  us 
made  up  for  our  regular  autumn  doles.  The 
dear  old  Mother  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  with 
a  new  doll.  I  can't  say  the  same  for  the  poor 
children,  who  were  strange,  and  scared,  and  at 
first  hardly  to  be  pacified ;  but  by  degrees  the> 
seemed  to  find  the  comfort  of  being  clean,  and 
by  night  they  were  all  merrily  at  play,  as  if  noth- 
ing had  happened  to  them.  We  made  up  as 
many  cot  beds  as  there  were  children,  and  my 
own  bed  was  moved  into  the  room.  Sister 
Anne  also  slept  in  the  room  till  she  was  taken 
sick,  when  Amice  was  allowed  to  take  her  place, 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       141 

I  don't  think,  for  my  own  part,  that  I  was  ever 
happier  than  when  playing  with  these  children, 
or  teaching  them  their  horn-book  and  the  use  of 
their  little  fat  fingers.  The  eldest  is  about  ten, 
a  wise  motherly  little  maid,  and  a  great  help  to 
us  with  the  others.  The  youngest  is  only  three — 
the  sole  survivor  of  Roger  Smith's  family.  Con- 
sidering what  the  family  was  like,  we  may  hope 
her  loss  may  prove  a  gain. 

There  were  many  different  opinions  in  the 
house  concerning  the  sheltering  of  these  orphans. 
Sister  Catherine,  who  has  not  had  so  much  to 
say  about  discipline  since  her  dismissal  from 
orifice,  opened  her  mouth  once  more  to  protest 
against  the  great  irregularity  of  our  taking  the 
babes,  and  the  utter  impropriety  of  their  being 
committed  to  the  care  of  the  youngest  pe*  son  in 
the  house.  But  Sister  Placida,  who  is  great  in 
the  history  of  this  and  other  orders,  and  who  has 
no  objection  (or  so  I  think)  to  putting  down 
Sister  Catherine,  brought  so  many  precedents  to 
bear  against  her,  that  she  was  fain  to  betake 
herself  to  her  humility,  her  usual  refuge  when 
worsted.  Some  were  terrified  at  the  notion  of 
bringing  infection  into  the  house  ;  but  in  general, 
I  must  say,  the  Sisters  were  very  kind  to  the 
poor  children,  and  very  glad  of  an  excuse  to  slip 
away,  and  play  with  them. 

It  was  two  weeks  after  the  pestilence  broke 
out  in  the  village  before  it  appeared  in  the  house. 
Sister    Bridget  was    the    first    victim.     She  was 


tj2  Lady  Rosamond's  Book:  or} 

taken  in  the  night,  with  the  heat  and  sweat,  and, 
poor  creature,  had  no  more  wit  than  to  rise  and 
stand  for  half  an  hour  or  more  at  the  open  win- 
dow of  her  cell,  till  Mother  Gertrude,  making  her 
rounds,  discovered  her  state.  She  was  taken  at 
once  to  the  infirmary,  and  died  in  a  few  hours, 
very  happy  and  resigned,  and  saying,  with  al- 
most her  last  breath,  poor  thing,  that  everybody 
had  been  very  kind  to  her.  From  that  time  we 
had  a  new  case  or  two  every  day  for  a  week. 
Almost  every  one  who  had  resolution  enough  to 
remain  quietly  in  bed  and  bear  the  all  but  intol- 
erable discomfort  of  the  heat  and  bad  odor,  re- 
covered ;  but  many  were  light-headed,  and  unless 
watched  every  moment,  would  throw  off  the 
clothes  and  otherwise  expose  themselves  :  and 
every  one  who  got  the  slightest  chill  died  with- 
out remedy. 

It  was  a  trying  time,  and  one  which  showed 
what  people  were  made  of;  for  the  discipline  of 
the  family  was  necessarily  much  relaxed,  the 
care  of  the  sick  being  the  principal  matter,  and 
each  one  showed  in  her  true  colors — very  unex- 
pected colors  some  of  them  have  been.  Mother 
Gabrielle,  who  has  always  been  rather  fussy  and 
fidgetty,  and  especially  apt  to  be  scared  on  small 
occasions,  and  to  fret  over  little  accidents  and 
losses,  was  as  calm  and  cheerful  as  a  summer 
morning,  till  she  was  taken  down  herself,  when 
she  made  a  most  edifying  end.  Mother  Superior, 
though    calm    and    composed,   was    very    sad 


7ne  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       i^j 

Mother  Gertrude,  just  as  usual.  In  general  I 
must  say  the  Sisters  have  behaved  very  well. 
Sister  Catherine  was  the  most  alarmed  of  any- 
body, and  made  herself  rather  a  trouble  by  going 
round  asking  everybody's  pardon  and  wanting  to 
kiss  their  feet,  which  was  not  always  quite  con- 
venient when  one  had  a  jug  of  barley  water,  or  a 
crying  babe  in  one's  arms.  She  wanted  to  help 
in  the  infirmary,  but  she  cried  so,  and  was  besides 
so  unwilling  to  obey  orders  without  some  little 
variation  of  her  own,  that  Sister  Placida  dispensed 
with  her  help  very  suddenly.  At  last  she  took 
to  her  own  bed  with  a  kind  of  nervous  fever  ;  and 
as  she  was  not  very  sick,  everybody  was  rather 
glad  to  have  her  out  of  the  way. 

Sister  Mary  Paula  was  quite  different.  From 
the  first  she  attended  steadily  to  her  work,  speak- 
ing but  little,  but  very  kind  and  sober  in  her  de- 
meanor. One  morning,  when  I  went  to  the 
kitchen  for  the  children's  dinner,  at  ten  o'clock, 
she  stopped  me. 

"  Rosamond,  did  you  know  who  it  was  told  the 
Bishop  of  your  sending  a  love  token  to  your 
cousin  ?" 

"Nay  !"  said  I:  "I  had  not  an  idea,  nor  do  I 
wish  to  know,  since  no  harm  has  come  of  it." 

"  Well,  it  was  I !"  said  she,  bluntly,  turning 
scarlet  as  she  spoke.  "  My  brother  is  the  Bi- 
shop's chaplain,  and  when  he  came  to  see  me,  I 
managed  to  slip  a  note  into  his  hand,  telling  him 
the  whole  story,  as  I  had  heard  it !" 


144         Lady  Rosamond1  s  Book;  or, 

"  But,  dear  Sister,  how  could  you  do  that,  since 
yourself  told  me  you  could  not  write  ?"  I  asked,  in 
amazement. 

"  1  did  not  write  it — that  was  done  by  another 
hand  !"  she  answered  me  ;  "  but  'twas  I  conveyed 
it  to  my  brother.  I  fancied,  or  tried  to  fancy, 
that  I  was  moved  by  zeal  for  religion  and  for  the 
honor  of  this  house  ;  but  my  eyes  have  been 
opened  lately,  and  I  see  things  more  clearly. 
'Twas  mere  spite  and  envy,  because  I  thought 
you  a  favorite.  I  desired  to  bring  you  into  dis- 
grace, or  to  cause  your  removal  from  the  house  ; 
and  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  it,  with  all  my  heart !"  said 
I,  kissing  her.  "  Nay,  there  is  naught  to  pardon, 
since  all  turned   out  to  my  advantage  at  last." 

"  Yes,  the  stones  we  threw  returned    on   our 
own  heads  !"  she  answered,  "  and  so  they  ought. 
Here,    take   these    cakes    for    your   brats.      Do 
they  all  keep  well  ?" 

"  All !"  I  told  her,  but  added  that  she  did  not 
look  well  herself,  and  I  feared  she  was  working 
too  hard. 

"  Nay,  I  am  well  enough,"  she  said,  "  but  Rosa- 
mond, will  you  pray  for  me  ?  My  mind  is  dis- 
tracted with  all  this  work  and  worry,  and  I  fear 
my  prayers  are  of  little  value." 

I  told  her  I  did  not  believe  such  distraction 
hurt  our  prayers,  and  reminded  her  of  what 
Father  Fabian  had  said  about  offering  our  work 
and  our  very  distractions.     She  kissed  me  again 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       14$ 

and  I  went  my  way.  That  was  the  last  time  I 
ever  saw  her  alive.  She  dropped  that  evening 
in  the  chapel,  and  died  before  midnight.  It 
seemed  the  signal  for  a  new  outbreak  of  the  dis- 
ease. Three  of  my  charge  were  attacked,  and 
two  died,  and  of  the  Sisters  three  within  the  next 
three  days.  Mother  Gabrielle  was  the  last,  and 
I  do  think  she  died  as  much  as  anything  from 
sheer  fatigue.  I  had  no  touch  of  the  disorder, 
though  I  nursed  all  the  children  who  had  it,  and 
also  Sister  Anne,  whom  we  hoped  at  one  time 
might  recover  ;  but  she  had  a  relapse,  I  think 
from  getting  up  too  soon,  despite  the  warnings 
of  Mother  Mary  Monica. 

Now  things  have  returned  to  their  usual  course, 
save  that  with  the  Bishop's  approbation  we  have 
kept  the  three  children  who  survived,  and  have 
also  taken  in  two  more.  Annie  and  I  have  the 
charge  of  teaching  and  overseeing  them,  under 
the  real  superintendence  oPMother  Gertrude  and 
the  nominal  care  of  Mother  Mary  Monica,  which 
mostly  consists  in  telling  them  stories,  cutting 
out  figures,  and  begging  off  from  pains  and  pen- 
alties. What  a  dear  old  grandmother  she  would 
have  made  ! 

I  have  heard  but  once  from  my  friends  in 
London,  who  are  all  well.  My  fatner  is  coming 
home  in  a  few  weeks. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


October  28. 
^lMICE,  is  sick — I  don't  know  what  ails 
her,  but  she  has  been  growing  thin  and 
pale  ever  since  the  pestilence,  and  now 
she  has  been  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed. 
She  does  not  suffer  much,  save  from  her  weak- 
ness, which  so  affects  her  nerves  that  she  can 
hardly  bear  any  one  in  the  room  with  her,  but 
prefers  to  stay  alone.  The  doctor  says  she  is  to 
have  her  way  in  all  things — a  sentence  which 
always  sounds  to  me  like  that  of  death.  My  heart 
is  like  to  break  with  the  thought,  but  there  is  no 
help.  Nobody  will  ever  know  what  she  has  been 
to  me. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


All  Saints'  Dayy  Nov.  2. 
T  seems  as  if  there  were  never  more  to 
be  peace  in  this  devoted  house.     Mag- 
dalen Jewell,  the  woman  who  lived  at 
Grey  Tor,  the  woman  who  nursed  her 
neighbors  all  through  the  sickness,  and  has  since 
been  a  mother  to  many  an  orphan,  and  a  dutiful 
daughter  to  many  a  widow,  Magdalen  Jewell  is 
accused  of  heresy,  apprehended,  and  shut  up  in 
Saint  Ethelburga's  vault,  till  she  can  be  removed 
to   a  stronger  prison.     Tis  a  shame,  and  I  will 
say  it.     They  have  no  business  to  put  such  an 
office  on  us,  but  Father  Fabian,  who,  I  do  suspect, 
likes  the  business  no  more  than  I  do,  says  'tis 
done  in  hopes  that  the  persuasions  of  himself  and 
Mother  Superior  may  bring  her  to  a  better  mind. 
They  say  there  is  no  doubt  of  her  guilt.     Indeed, 
she  herself  denies  it  not,  but  gJories  in  it,  and  is 
full  of  joy.     I  heard  her  myself  singing  of  some 
hymn,  as  I  judged.     They  say  she  was  suspected 
a  long  time,  and  a  man  whom  she  had  nursed  in 
the  sickness,  spying  upon  her  at  night  through 
the  window,  saw  her  many  times  reading  in  a 
great  bound  book  she  had.     He  giving  informa- 


t^S  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

tion,  the  house  was  searched,  and  the  book  found. 
It  proved  to  be  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures  in  the 
vulgar  tongue.  Magdalen  being  apprehended, 
showed  neither  surprise  nor  fear,  but  confessed 
all,  and  gloried,  as  she  said,  that  she  was  counted 
worthy  to  die  for  her  religion.  And  now  she  is 
shut  up  in  that  horrible  place,  and  Mother  Ger- 
trude— she  who  has  always  seemed  too  kind  to 
hurt  a  fly,  is  her  keeper,  and  unless  she  recants 
she  must  needs  be  burned.     It  is  utterly  horrible  ! 

And  they  are  all  so  hard-hearted  against  her ! 
Father  Fabian  says  it  is  a  sin  to  pity  a  heretic, 
and  so  say  all  the  Sisters.  Even  Mother  Ger- 
trude, though  she  offers  many  prayers  for  hei 
conversion,  says  she  deserves  her  fate,  and  even 
that  the  man  who  betrayed  her  did  a  good  deed, 
in  thus  laying  aside  all  the  ties  of  natural  affection. 
But  I  cannot  think  so.  The  man  seems  to  me  a 
horrible  wretch  and  traitor,  far  more  deserving 
of  the  stake  than  this  good,  kind  woman,  who 
has  sacrificed  everything  to  her  neighbors. 

My  whole  mind  is  in  a  tumult,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  feel  as  if  I  would  give  anything  to  leave 
the  shadow  of  this  roof  and  never  see  it  again. 
And  that  dear  old  chapel,  that  I  so  loved,  and 
where  I  had  such  sweet  comfort,  to  be  so  used  ! 
I  cannot  write  nor  even  think.  I  would  Amice 
were  well,  but  she  is  more  feeble  than  she  has 
been,  and  last  night  she  begged  that  Mother 
Gertrude  might  sleep  in  the  room  with  her, 
though  she  would  not  havener  sit  up. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Nov.  4. 
^AGDALEN  JEWELL  hath  escaped,  at 
the  least  she  hath  disappeared,  and  no 
one  knows  what  has  become  of  her.     It 
seems  impossible  that  she   could   have 
got  out,  as  there  are  no  means  whatever  of  open- 
ing the  door  from  the  inside,  and  the  key  hath 
never  left  Mother  Gertrude's  care.     Some  of  the 
Sisters  think  that  the  ghost  or  demon,  or  what- 
ever it  is  that  hath  heretofore  avenged  sacrilege 
in   that   chapel,   hath   torn    her    in    pieces  and 
carried  her  off  bodily,  but  they  say  there  are  no 
signs  of  any  such  struggle.     The  very  cruse  of 
water  which  Mother  Gertrude  carried  to  the  pris- 
oner last  night  is  standing  half  emptied  on  the 
floor,  but  the  bread  is  all  gone,  so  she  must  have 
eaten  her   supper.     Mother  Gertrude,  on  rising, 
found  poor  Amice  very  much  worse,  faint  and  ex- 
hausted, which  delayed  her  a  little.     When  she 
went  to  the  prison,  she  called  as  usual,  but  there 
was  no  answer.     She  looked  through  the  grating 
in  the  door,  usually  masked  by  a  panel  on  the 
outside,  but  could  see  nothing.    Becoming  scared, 


fjo        Lady  Rosamond 's  Bcoh;  or, 

she  sent  for  Mother  Superior  and  Father  Fabian, 
,  who  had  the  tower  and  vault  thoroughly  searched, 
but  nothing  was  to  be  found,  save  what  had 
always  been  there.  It  is  a  most  wonderful  chance. 
I  don't  think  Father  Fabian  believes  very  much 
in  the  demon,  or  he  would  not  have  searched  the 
grounds  so  carefully,  or  asked  so  many  questions. 
Mother  Gertrude  takes  charge  of  all  the  keys  at 
night,  and  places  them  under  her  pillow  ;  and  be- 
side that,  who  was  to  steal  them,  supposing  that 
such  a  theft  were  possible  ?  Mother  Gertrude  is  a 
heavy  sleeper,  but  Amice  is  a  very  light  one, 
specially  since  her  illness,  and  she  declares  most 
positively,  that  she  is  certain  nobody  was  in  the 
room  last  night,  save  herself  and  Mother  Ger- 
trude. It  is  all  a  dark  mystery.  Magdalen  was 
to  have  been  removed  to  Exeter  to-day,  but  now 
Father  Fabian  must  go  instead,  and  give  the  best 
account  he  may  of  the  matter.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  believe  very  much  in  the  demon,  any  more 
than  Father  Fabian.  My  notion  is  that  some 
friend  from  outside  hath  found  a  way  of  helping 
the  poor  woman,  or  that  there  is  some  way  of 
escape  from  the  tower  which  we  know  not  of. 

Anyhow,  I  am  glad  she  is  gone,  and  so  I  can't 
but  think  there  are  some  others,  if  they  would 
say  so.  The  tower  being  open,  some  of  us  young 
ones  ventured  to  explore  it,  and  even  into  the 
vaults  below.  The  tower  is  simply  what  it  looks 
to  be — a  structure  of  great  unhewn  stone,  with 
projections  here  and  there  like  shelves,  and  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles*       i$l 

remains  of  a  stone  staircase,  though  where  it 
should  lead  to  I  cannot  guess.  Another  stone 
stairs  leads  down  to  the  vault,  which  is  perfectly- 
dark,  save  for  one  narrow  slit  at  the  very  top, 
going  into  the  garden.  Here  was  once  a  shrine, 
whereof  the  altar  and  crucifix  still  remain.  A 
row  of  niches  runs  all  round,  of  which  two  have 
been  built  up,  doubtless  for  burial  purposes,  and 
there  are  the  dusty  remains  of  several  coffins, 
such  as  are  used  for  nuns,  beside  two  or  three  of 
lead  and  stone.  'Tis  a  dismal  and  dreadful  place, 
and  it  seems  horrible  to  think  any  living  being 
should  be  confined  there.  Yet,  the  story  goes 
that  it  has  sometimes  been  used  as  a  prison  for 
nuns  guilty  of  grave  offences.  I  drew  a  long 
breath,  when  I  got  into  the  free  air  of  heaven 
once  more,  and  I  must  say,  I  was  glad  to  think 
poor  Magdalen  had  escaped. 

I  could  be  as  light-hearted  as  a  bird,  only  that 
my  dear  Amice  is  so  much  worse.  She  is  very 
low  indeed,  too  exhausted  to  speak  ;  but  she  lies 
quietly  in  her  bed,  with  a  look  of  most  heavenly 
peace  on  her  face.  She  seems  most  of  the  time 
engaged  in  inward  prayer  and  thanksgiving,  for 
her  eyes  are  closed  and  her  lips  move,  and  now 
and  then  she  opens  her  eyes  with  such  a  won- 
drous smile,  as  if  she  saw  the  glories  of  heaven 
open  before  her.  What  shall  I  do  when  she  is 
gone  ?  I  dare  not  think.  I  have  been  sitting  by 
her  a  great  part  of  the  day,  and  now  Mother 
Gertrude    tells  me,  she  has  asked   that  I  may 


r$- 


LaJy  Rosamond's  Book. 


watch  beside  her  this  night,  and  dear  Mother 
hath  given  permission.  I  am  most  thankful  for 
the  privilege,  for  I  would  not  lose  one  moment  of 
her  dear  society. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


Nov.  8th. 
^NNIE  CROCKER,  my  dearest  friend,  is 
dead  and  buried — buried  in  a  dishonored 
grave,  by  the  poor  lady  who  was  pris- 
oner in  the  Queen's  room  so  long.  She 
died  a  heretic,  they  say,  without  the  sacraments, 
and  they  tell  me  it  is  sinful  in  me  to  love  her 
longer.  But  I  will  love  her,  to  the  latest  day  of 
my  life.  I  don't  believe  she  is  lost  either,  and 
nothing  shall  ever  make  me  think  so.  Oh,  that 
last  night  when  I  sat  by  her  side,  and  she  told 
me  all ! 

Well,  she  is  gone,  and  naught  can  hurt  her 
more.  I  think  Mother  Gertrude  will  soon  follow, 
for  she  seems  utterly  broken  down.  She  might 
well  say  that  ro  good  would  come  of  the  Queen's 
visit.  And  if  Annie  should  be  right,  after  all,  and 
we  wrong  !  I  must  not,  I  dare  not  think  of  it ! 
Alack  and  woe  »s  me !  I  would  I  had  died  in 
the  sickness,  or  ever  I  had  lived  to  see  this 
sorrowful  day  ! 


pi 


'NT^ 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


Corby  End,  April  20 >,  1630. 
LITTLE  thought,  a  year  ago,  that 
another  April  would  see  me  quietly  a  t 
home  in  my  father's  house,  and  with 
such  a  companion — still  less  that  I  could 
be  quite  content  in  such  a  companionship.  If 
any  one  had  told  me  so  I  should  have  laughed 
or  been  angry,  I  hardly  know  which,  and  yet  I 
am  quite  ready  to  confess  that  'tis  all  for  the  best. 
My  father,  my  Lady  and  Harry  are  all  gone  to 
make  a  visit  at  Fulton  Manor,  where  is  now  much 
company  to  celebrate  the  wedding  of  Sir  Thomas' 
eldest  daughter.  I  was  to  have  gone  with  them, 
but  when  the  day  came  the  weather  was  damp 
and  cold  ;  and  as  I  am  only  just  beginning  to 
be  strong  again,  my  Lady  and  I  both  thought  I 
should  be  better  at  home.  Father  and  Harry 
were  much  disappointed,  and  I  saw  Harry  was  a 
little  disposed  to  lay  the  blame  on  my  Lady,  but 
a  little  quiet  reasoning  and  some  coaxing  finally 
made  him  own  that  all  was  for  the  best.  So  here 
I  am,  in  sole  possession  of  the  house,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  have  got  out  my  book  of  chronicle* 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       155 

I  have  read  it  all  over,  and  pasted  in  the  loose 
leaves  where  they  belong,  as  even  should  I  return 
to  the  convent  I  shall  not  take  it  with  me.  I  am 
minded  to  continue  it,  especially  as  I  can  now 
write  freely  and  without  concealment.  My  step- 
mother never  interferes  in  my  private  matters. 
Even  Mrs.  Prue,  who  began  by  attributing  to  her 
almost  every  fault  of  which  woman  is  capable, 
now  grudgingly  admits  that  my  Lady  minds  her 
own  business,  and  is  passing  good-natured.  In 
fact,  only  for  that  one  mortal  sin  of  marrying  my 
father,  I  think  the  old  woman  would  allow  her 
new  lady  to  be  a  mistress  of  good  conditions. 

I  suppose  I  had  better  begin  just  where  I  left 
off. 

The  night  before  Amice  died,  she  begged  that 
I  alone  might  sit  with  her,  saying  that  Mother 
Gertrude  needed  unbroken  rest,  which  was  true. 
Amice  was  so  manifestly  near  her  end  that  Mo- 
ther Superior  did  not  like  to  refuse  her  anything, 
and  Mother  Gertrude  somewhat  unwillingly  gave 
way.  The  dear  Mother  would  have  spent  the 
whole  night  in  prayer  for  her  niece  at  the  shrine 
of  St.  Ethelburga,  had  not  Mother  Superior  laid 
her  commands  on  her  to  go  to  bed  and  rest  all 
night. 

"  Sit  close  by  me,  dear  Rosamond,"  said  Amice, 
"  you  know  I  cannot  speak  loud  now,  and  I  have 
much  to  say." 

"  You  must  not  tire  yourself  by  talking,"  said  I. 

"  It  will   make    no   difference,"  she  answered- 


r$6         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"I  feel  that  my  end  is  very  near.  Doubtless 
what  I  did  last  night  may  have  hastened  my 
death,  but  I  do  not  regret  it  ;  I  would  do  it  again/' 

"  What  you  did  last  night !"  I  repeated,  struck 
with  a  sudden,  most  strange  thought.  "  Do  you 
mean,  Amice,  that  you" — I  could  not  finish  the 
sentence. 

"Hush!"  said  she:  "even  so,  Rosamond.  I 
took  the  keys  from  under  Mother  Gertrude's  pillow 
(you  know  how  sound  she  sleeps,  especially  when 
she  has  been  disturbed),  opened  the  doors  and 
let  the  prisoner  free." 

"  But  the  outer  door — that  heavy  iron  door  !"  I 
exclaimed,  in  amazement. 

"  I  did  not  open  the  outer  door.  She  climbed 
over  the  wall  there  by  the  beehives.  The  gar- 
dener had  left  his  ladder  close  by.  I  wonder 
they  did  not  find  it  in  the  search  this  morning." 

"I  dare  say  he  had  taken  it  away  before  that 
he  might  not  be  blamed  for  his  carelessness,"  said 
I.  "  But  Amice,  even  then  I  see  not  how  you 
accomplished  it.     We  have  thought  you  so  weak." 

"  And  so  I  have  been,"  said  she.  "  The  day 
before,  I  could  hardly  rise  without  help,  and  after 
I  got  back  to  my  bed  I  lay  for  many  hours  so 
utterly  exhausted  that  I  many  times  thought 
myself  dying.  But  at  least  I  had  the  strength  to 
call  nobody,  for  I  wished  above  all  things  that 
Magdalen  might  have  time  to  escape.  She  told 
me  at  parting  that  with  three  hours'  vantage,  she 
would  defy  even  the  King's  bloodhounds  to  find 


Tlic  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       157 

her,  and  I  was  determined  she  should  lose  that 
vantage  through  no  fault  of  mine." 

"  But,  if  you  had  died,  Amice — died  without 
confession  and  the  sacraments,"  said  I.  I  knew 
that  she  had  not  confessed  for  a  long  time,  put- 
ting off  the  Father  by  saying  she  was  too  weak, 
and  that  it  hurt  her  to  talk. 

"  I  should  not  have  died  without  confession, 
dearest  Rosamond,"  said  she,  with  an  heavenly 
smile.  "  I  have  known  this  many  a  day  that 
there  needs  no  priest  to  make  a  confession  valid, 
but  that  to  every  truly  penitent  heart  the  way  to 
the  very  throne  of  Heaven  is  open,  and  that  the 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  If  I 
regretted  aught,  it  was  that  I  must  die  without 
another  kind  of  confession — the  confessing  my 
faith  openly  before  men.  I  have  longed  to  do 
so,  but  I  shame  to  say  it — I  have  been  afraid. 
But  now  I  fear  no  longer." 

I  was  utterly  dumbfounded,  and  could  not 
speak  a  word. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  whole  ?"  she  asked,  pre- 
sently ;  "  or  are  you  too  much  shocked  to  hear 
more  ?  You  will  not  cast  me  off,  will  you,  Rosa- 
mond ?" 

"  Never  !"  said  I,  finding  my  voice  at  last  ;  "  but, 
dearest  Amice,  consider.  Think  of  your  fair 
fame — of  Mother  Gertrude  and  dear  Mother  Su- 
perior !" 

"  I  have  thought  of  all,"  she  answered  ;  "  yea, 
many  times  over,  and  though  I  grieve  to  grieve 


i $8  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

them,  yet  I  must  needs  speak.  I  have  denied 
Him  before  men  too  long  already  :  I  must  needs 
confess  Him  before  I  die,  come  what  may.  Give 
me  some  cordial,  Rosamond.  I  must  keep  my- 
self up  till  to-morrow,  at  least." 

I  gave  her  the  cordial,  and  after  a  little  rest,  she 
began  once  more  : 

"  Rosamond,  do  you  remember  the  day  we 
were  dusting  the  chairs  in  the  Queen's  room,  and 
you  showed  me  one,  the  velvet  whereof  was  spot- 
ted with  small  spots,  as  of  drops  of  water  ?  Mother 
Gertrude  sent  you  to  the  wardrobe  just    then." 

"  I  remember  it  well,"  I  answered  ;  "  and  that 
looking  from  the  window  I  saw  you  reading  some 
ragged  leaves  which  you  put  into  youi  bosom.  I 
meant  to  ask  what  they  were,  but  in  the  multitude 
of  business,  I  forgot." 

"  Exactly  so  !"  said  Amice.  "  I  was  dusting 
the  chair,  and  on  taking  up  the  cushion,  which  I 
found  to  be  moveable,  there  fell  out  these  leaves. 
I  took  them  up  to  read  them,  thinking  they  might 
throw  some  light  on  the  poor  lady's  history,  but 
I  had  read  little  when  I  knew  what  I  had  found — 
^something  I  had  long  desired  to  see.  It  was  a 
Written  copy  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  done  into 
English.  Doubtless  the  poor  prisoner  had  man- 
aged to  bring  it  with  her,  and  had  found  a  con- 
venient hiding-place  for  her  treasure  in  this  chair, 
which  she  had  watered  with  her  tears. 

"  I  had  read  but  a  few  words  when  I  was  inter- 
rupted \  but  those  words  were  engraven  on  my 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       ijp 

mind  as  with  a  pen  of  steel.  They  were  these  : 
1  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only- 
son  for  the  intent  that  none  that  believe  in  him 
should  perish,  but  should  have  everlasting  life. 
For  God  sent  not  his  son  into  the  world  to  con- 
demn the  world,  but  that  the  world  through  him 
might  be  saved.' 

"  Rosamond,  I  was  as  a  man  walking  through 
desolate  moors  and  among  quaking  bogs  and 
thorny  thickets,  to  whom  a  flash  of  light  from 
Heaven  showed  for  one  moment  the  right  and 
safe  road.  It  was  but  a  glimpse.  I  had  no  more 
time  to  read  then,  nor  for  some  hours  after  ;  but 
that  night,  in  recreation,  I  did  find  time  for  a  few 
more  verses.  By  the  first  peep  of  light  next  morn- 
ing I  was  up  and  at  my  window,  and  thence- 
forth the  morning  star  seldom  found  me  sleeping. 
I  placed  the  book  of  the  Gospel  inside  my  prayer- 
book,  for  better  concealment,  but  after  I  had  once 
read  it  through,  and  for  fear  it  might  be  taken 
from  me,  I  learned  it  all  off  by  heart." 

"  I  remember  how  we  used  to  smile  at  your 
early  rising,"  said  I  ;  "we  little  thought  what 
you  were  about." 

"  This  went  on  for  a  while,"  continued  Amice, 
(I  set  down  her  own  words  as  near  as  I  can 
remember  them)  :  "and  then  I  came  near  a  dis- 
covery. You  know  how  light  of  foot  was  Mistress 
Anne.  Well,  one  day,  when  I  had  ventured,  as 
I  seldom  did,  to  take  out  my  book  while  I  was 
waiting  in  the  Queen's  anteroom,  she  came  be^ 


r6o        Lady  Rosamond- s  Booh;  or, 

hind  me  and  peeped  over  my  shoulder,  and  before 
I  could  hinder,  snatched  the  leaves  from  my  hand. 
I  thought  then  that  all  was  lost  ;  but  after  teas- 
ing me  awhile  in  her  childish  fashion,  she  gave 
me  back  my  treasure,  and  said  she  would  get  me 
a  better  book  than  that,  even  the  whole  New 
Testament,  done  into  fair  English  by  one  Master 
Tyndale. 

"  But  mind  !"  she  added,  "  I  don't  stand  sponsor 
for  all  his  notions,  and  I  wont  be  answerable  for 
the  consequences  to  yourself.  This  much  I  may 
say.  'Twas  a  very  learned  and  good  man  gave 
me  the  book,  and  he  says  'tis  true  to  the  original 
Greek,  out  of  which  it  was  translated  by  Master 
Tyndale." 

"  And  have  you  read  it  ?"  I  asked  her. 

"  Not  I."  says  she,  "  save  only  a  chapter,  here 
and  there  ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  Mistress  Amice,  if 
this  book  gains  ground,  as  'tis  like  to  do,  your 
priests  and  nuns  and  mitred  abbots  will  fly  away 
like  ghosts  and  owls  before  the  sunrising. 
Nay,  unless  some  I  know  are  the  more  mistaken, 
the  cock  has  crowed  already." 

"  That  very  night  she  gave  me  the  book,  and 
before  she  left,  she  added  another  which  was  sent 
her  from  London,  namely  Master  Tyndalc's 
exposition  of  certain  passages.  But  I  cared  not 
so  much  for  that,  as  for  the  other.  Then  came 
the  sickness,  when  the  discipline  of  the  house 
being  so  much  relaxed,  I  had  more  time  to  read 
and  study  and  compare.    Rosamond,  how  amazed 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       161 

was  I  to  find  that  there  is  in  the  New  Testament 
no  single  hint  of  any  worship  being  paid  to  our 
Lord's  mother — nay,  our  Lord  Himself  saying, 
that  those  who  did  His  Father's  will,  were  even 
to  Him  as  His  own  mother." 

"Tis  not  the  right  Gospel,"  said  I.  "Why 
Amice,  only  think  how  our  Lady  is  honored 
throughout  all  Christendom.  Depend  upon  it, 
you  have  been  deceived." 

"  Who  would  dare  to  carry  out  such  a  decep- 
tion ?"  said  she.  "  Every  learned  man  in  Chris- 
tendom would  be  against  him." 

I  cannot  now  write  down  all  she  said,  as  how 
she  had  found  the  teaching  of  our  Lord  so  much 
more  simple  and  plain,  than  those  in  the  lives  of 
the  saints — how  Himself  had  declared  that  who- 
soever did  but  believe  on  Him,  had  already 
everlasting  life — how  Christ  being  already  offered 
for  si\,  there  was  no  more  sacrifice,  but  all  was 
perfected  in  Him  ;  and  much  more  which  I  did 
not,  and  do  not  yet  understand.  But  she  ended 
by  saying,  that  she  could  no  longer  keep  silence, 
since  the  Lord  had  commanded  all  to  confess 
Ilim  before  men,  and  had  declared  that  He 
would  deny  ail  who  did  not  thus  confess  Him. 

"  I  cannot  die  with  a  lie  on  my  lips,"  she 
said.  "  I  dare  not  thus  go  into  the  presence  of 
my  God,  where  I  must  soon  stand  ;  for  God  doth 
hate  lying  above  measure,  inasmuch  as  He  hath 
declared  that  all  liars  shall  have  their  part  in  the 
§econd  death.     Besides,,  were  it  not  utterly  base 


i62        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

to  deny  Him,  who  hath  done  and  will  do  so 
much  for  me  ?" 

I  used  many  arguments  with  her,  but  could 
prevail  nothing,  even  when  I  spoke  of  Mother 
Gertrude  and  her  sorrow,  at  which  Amice  wept  so 
vehemently,  that  I  was  alarmed;  but  when  she  was 
again  composed,  she  said  she  had  thought  oi 
that  many  times,  and  with  many  prayers  and  tears, 
but  yet  she  could  see  her  duty  in  no  other  way. 

Oh,  I  cannot  tell  all  she  said.  I  would  I  could 
remember  and  set  down  every  word,  but  much 
has  gone  from  me.  She  bade  me  take  comfort 
concerning  her,  when  she  was  gone,  saying  that 
nothing  they  could  do  would  work  her  any  real 
injury.  She  told  me  how  happy  her  new  faith 
had  made  her,  despite  many  perplexities  concern- 
ing her  duty — how  at  the  last  she  had  seen  her 
way  clear,  and  what  peace  she  had  felt  in  the 
thought  that  her  free  salvation  had  been  pro- 
vided for  in  Christ,  and  she  had  but  to  believe, 
and  be  saved. 

"  What,  even  if  you  were  wicked  ?"  said  I. 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear  Rosamond,  that  one 
who  really  believed  in  our  Lord  could  not  be 
wicked  ?  If  he  really  and  truly  believed  that  the 
Lord  died  for  him,  he  would  desire  to  do  what 
that  Lord  commanded,  and  to  be  like  Him.  He 
would  know  that  Christ  makes  keeping  His 
commands  the  very  test  of  faith  and  love,  even 
as  He  saith:  "He  that  hath  my  commands  and 
kcepeth  them,  He  it  is  that  loveth  me." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       163 

I  asked  what  she  had  done  with  her  Testa- 
ment, and  she  told  me  she  had  given  it  to  Mag- 
dalen Jewell,  knowing  that  she  should  need  it  no 
longer. 

"  There  are  many  things  therein  which  I  don't 
understand,  but  they  will  soon  be  made  plain," 
said  she.  "  Is  it  not  almost  morning,  Rosa- 
mond ?     Draw  the  curtain  and  see." 

I  did  so.  Lo  the  dawn  was  stealing  on,  and 
in  the  east  shone,  glorious  to  see,  the  morning 
star. 

II  There  is  the  emblem  of  my  Lord  !"  said 
Amice,  clasping  her  hands  ;  '  there  is  the  bright 
and  morning  star.  It  is  the  last  dawning  I  shall 
see  on  earth !  To-morrow,  Rosamond,  and 
whenever  you  think  of  me,  remember  that  I  am 
resting  where  there  is  no  need  of  sun  or  moon : 
1  For  the  brightness  of  God  did  lighten  it,  and 
the  Lamb  was  the  light  of  it.'  'They  shall 
hunger  no  more  neither  thirst  any  more,  neither 
shall  the  sun  light  on  them  nor  any  heat.  For 
the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  seat  shall 
feed  them  and  shall  lead  them  unto  fountains  of 
living  waters,  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears 
from  their  eyes.'" 

"Is  that  out  of  the  Scripture  ?"  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

"  Aye,  that  and  many  more  precious  promises. 
Rosamond,  you  are  far  more  of  a  scholar  than  I. 
If  you  have  a  chance,  do  not  you  neglect  to 
study    the    Scripture     for    yourself.      And    now 


164  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

farewell,  best,  dearest  friend,  for  I  hear  the  Sister 
going  to  ring  the  bell,  and  Mother  Gertrude  will 
soon  be  here." 

Oh,  that  last  embrace  !  I  dare  not  dwell  upon 
it  !  It  was  too  much  for  Amice,  who  fell  back 
fainting.  I  called  Mother  Gertrude,  who  was 
already  astir,  and  together  we  revived  her. 
Then  Mother  Gertrude,  seeing,  I  suppose,  by  my 
looks,  how  much  I  was  overcome,  gave  me  a 
composing  drink  and  sent  me  to  bed.  I  was 
long  in  falling  asleep,  but  I  did  at  last,  and 
when  I  waked  all  was  over.  I  heard  afterward 
how  it  was.  Seeing  that  Amice  was  clearly  near 
her  end,  the  Sisters  were  assembled  in  her  room, 
as  usual,  for  the  last  rite. 

Then  she  spoke  with  a  clear  and  plain  voice, 
declaring  that  having  had  her  mind  enlightened 
by  Holy  Scripture,  and  as  she  believed  also  by 
light  from  on  high,  she  did  utterly  contemn  and 
repudiate  all  worship  and  honor  of  images  and 
pictures,  all  prayers  to  our  Lady  and  the  Saints, 
and  all  trust  whatever  for  salvation  in  forms  and 
ceremonies.,  in  penances,  indulgences,  or  any  such 
toys  ;  placing  her  hopes  of  salvation  upon  Christ 
alone.  Having  said  which,  (but  mentioning 
naught  of  Magdalen  Jewell's  escape,)  she  repeated 
in  a  clear  voice  and  with  (as  Sister  Placida  told 
me,)  a  countenance  more  like  a  beatified  Saint 
than  a  dying  heretic,  these  words  from  the  Psalm  : 
"  Into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit,  for  thou 
hast   redeemed  me,  O  Lord,  thou  God  of  truth." 


Tfie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       165 

And  then  sinking  back  and  clasping  her  hands, 
she  yielded  up  the  ghost. 

'Twas  a  terrible  shock  and  surprise  to  all,  for 
Amice  had  been  devout  from  a  child,  using  many 
prayers,  and  as  much  of  watching  and  fasting  as 
her  superiors  would  permit ;  and  nobody,  not  even 
Sister  Catherine,  doubted  that  she  had  a  true  vo- 
cation. 

Mother  Gertrude  fainted  on  the  spot,  and  re- 
vived only  to  fall  into  fits,  to  which,  it  seems, 
she  was  formerly  subject.  All  the  Sisters  fled 
frcm  the  room,  and  the  poor  body  lay  unwatched 
and  uncared  for  till  night,  when  it  was  hastily 
and  with  little  ceremony  buried  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  cemetery,  by  the  side  of  that  poor  secluded 
lady,  who  had,  as  it  were,  left  this  legacy  of 
trouble  behind  her. 

Sister  Placida  (she  is  Mother  Placida  now, 
having  been  put  in  the  place  of  dear  Mother  Ger- 
trude, who  is  far  too  feeble  to  perform  any  duty,) 
Sister  Placida,  I  say,  told  me  these  things  when 
I  was  recovering  from  my  long  illness.  She  pro- 
fessed to  be  very  hard  and  severe  toward  the 
poor  thing,  but  I  could  see  her  heart  yearned  over 
her,  and  indeed  she  ended  by  a  great  burst  of 
weeping,  and  declaring  that  she  would  never 
cease  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  Amice  Crocker,  adding 
that  the  prayers,  if  they  did  no  good,  could  do  no 
harm,  and  might  serve  some  other  poor  soul  in 
Purgatory. 

I  had  just  waked  from  my  long  and  heavy  sleep, 


1 66        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

and  was  striving  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  calm 
my  throbbing  head,  when  Sister  Catherine  burst 
in  on  me  with  the  news  that  Amice  was  gone  ; 
and  after  recounting  the  manner  of  her  death, 
added  that  now  one  might  see  what  came  of  favor- 
itism and  book-learning,  and  court  preferment ; 
and  thanking  the  Saints,  as  usual,  for  her  lowly 
station  and  for  the  grace  of  humility  which  they 
had  vouchsafed  to  obtain  for  her.  She  added,  that 
as  the  bosom  friend  and  confident  of  that  lost 
heretic,  I  should  doubtless  be  severely  dealt  by, 
and  adjured  me  to  make  a  full  confession  and 
recantation,  as  in  that  case  I  might  be  let  off  with 
perpetual  imprisonment. 

Whether  any  such  purposes  were  entertained 
against  me  I  know  not,  but  I  do  not  greatly  be- 
lieve it ;  at  any  rate,  they  were  not  carried  out ; 
for  that  very  hour  I  was  taken  with  an  ague  chill, 
which  turned  to  a  long  and  low  fever,  lasting  I 
know  not  how  many  weeks,  during  which  I  lay 
mostly  in  a  low,  muttering  delirium,  knowing 
nobody,  and  talking,  when  I  could  be  understood, 
only  of  my  childish  life  at  home,  and  my  lessons 
with  my  mother  and  Master  Ellenwood.  Even 
after  the  fever  left  me  I  was  as  weak  as  any  babe, 
for  a  long  time,  and  as  I  had  been  removed  from 
my  usual  place  and  put  in  a  cell  opening  from 
Mother  Superior's  part  of  the  house,  where  I  saw 
nobody  but  herself,  Mother  Placida  and  Sister 
Bonaventure,  who  brought  my  food,  I  heard 
nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  house. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       i6j 

I  was  very  much  better,  and  able  to  sit  up  some 
hours  and  work  a  little,  when,  one  day,  I  was 
aware  of  a  somewhat  unusual  bustle  in  the  house, 
and  by-and-by  Mother  Superior  and  Mother  Pla- 
cida  came  to  me. 

"  The  Bishop  is  here,  and  desires  you  may  be 
brought  before  him,"  said  Mother  Superior.  She 
spoke  calmly,  as  usual,  but  I  saw  that  she  was 
disturbed  and  flurried.  They  helped  me  to  dress, 
and  then  supporting  me  each  by  an  arm,  they  led 
me  into  Mother  Superior's  private  room,  where  the 
Reverend  Prelate  sat  in  her  great  chair,  with  Fa- 
ther Fabian  standing  behind  him, 

His  Lordship,  though  very  grave,  was  kind  and 
fatherly,  as  when  I  had  seen  him  before.  He 
would  have  me  sit,  after  I  had  knelt  to  him  on 
entering,  and  then  before  Father  Fabian  and  the 
two  Mothers  he  began  questioning  me  about 
Amice.  Had  I  ever  suspected  her  of  any  leaning 
toward  heresy  ?  Had  we  ever  talked  on  the  sub- 
ject ?  Did  I  know  what  books  she  had  had,  and 
how  she  had  gained  them  ? 

At  the  answer  to  this  last  question,  "  that  I 
believed  she  had  found  a  part  at  least  of  what 
she  had,  concealed  in  a  chair  in  the  Queen's  room," 
I  saw  the  Bishop  and  Father  Fabian  look  on 
each  other.  Then  he  asked  me  whether  I  had 
been  intimate  with  Mrs.  Bullen ;  to  which  I  said 
decidedly  no !  that  I  did  not  like  her,  nor  she  me, 
and  we  kept  apart  as  much  as  possible. 

"That  is  well!"  said  he:     "the  woman  is  a 


i68        Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  of, 

pest,  and  will  be  a  greater."  Then  he  asked  me 
of  my  own  opinions,  to  which  I  answered  that  I 
had  never  thought  of  believing  save  a»s  I  had 
been  taught,  which  was  quite  true  at  that  time, 
whatever  may  be  the  case  now.  I  believe  I  sat- 
isfied him  at  last,  for  he  kindly  gave  me  his  bless- 
ing, and  said  there  was  no  need  of  my  being  se- 
cluded longer — which  by  the  way  was  the  first 
time  I  had  known  I  was  secluded  at  all.  But  he 
gave  me  many  sharp  and  solemn  cautions  about 
meddling  with  matters  too  high  for  me,  which 
certainly  I  had  no  mind  to  do  at  that  time,  being 
mortally  tired,  and  wanting  nothing  so  much  as 
to  get  back  to  bed. 

At  last  I  was  dismissed,  and  Mother  Placida 
kissed  me,  even  with  tears,  and  said  how  glad 
she  was  all  was  well,  and  farther  relieved  her 
heart  by  bringing  me  for  dinner  twice  as  much 
of  all  sorts  of  nice  things  as  I  could  eat,  and  a 
cup  of  her  fragrant  rose  cordial,  which  I  know  she 
treasures  as  if  it  were  a  draught  from  the  water 
of  life. 

When  I  got  about  the  house  again — which  was 
not  for  some  days — I  found  many,  and  some  sad 
changes.  Poor  Mother  Gertrude  sat  in  the  sun, 
spinning  of  fine  thread,  and  looking  far  more  aged 
and  feeble  even  than  Mother  Mary  Monica.  She 
seemed  hardly  to  know  me  at  first,  and  when  she 
did,  was  so  troubled  and  distressed  that  I  hardly 
could  pacify  her.  I  found  a  stranger  holding  the 
place  of  Mother  Assistant,  a   hard-looking  wo- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       169 

man,  with  sharp  black  eyes,  which  seemed  to  see 
everything  at  once.  Sister  Clare  told  me  she 
was  a  nun  from  the  house  at  Exeter,  and  added 
that  nobody  liked  her  except  Sister  Catherine, 
who  was  very  great  with  her.  I  could  see  that 
the  reins  were  tightened  up  in  every  way.  More 
work  was  done,  and  the  hours  of  prayer  and 
silence  were  multiplied.  Sister  Clare  also  told 
me  that  the  elder  nuns  were  much  dissatisfied 
with  having  a  stranger  "put  over  them  ;  and  that 
after  Amice's  death,  the  whole  household  had 
kept  a  nine  days'  fast  and  devotion,  to  expiate 
the  sin  of  having  harbored  an  apostate.  But  we 
had  little  talk  together  ;  for  Mother  Assistant 
encountering  us  bade  us  remember  the  rule  of  par- 
ticular friendships,  and  sent  Sister  Catherine  to 
join  us,  which  of  course  put  an  end  to  all  conver- 
sation but  her  own.  She  had  much  to  say  about 
the  improvements  in  the  family,  and  as  to  how  it 
would  be  impossible  in  future  for  any  one  to  fall 
into  such  disorders  as  had  obtained  among  the 
younger  members  of  the  family. 

I  escaped  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  went  away 
by  myself  to  the  corner  where  poor  Amice  lay 
buried.  I  could  not  be  sure  of  the  exact  place, 
for  the  ground  was  levelled  flat  and  made  bare 
for  some  distance.  Somebody  had  sowed  grass 
seed,  which  was  already  beginning  to  come  up  ; 
and  seeing  many  lily  of  the  valley  roots  lying 
about  on  the  grass,  I  ventured  to  replace  them 
in  the  soil,  where  I  hope  they  are  now  blooming 


tJO  Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  ot> 

For  a  good  many  days  after  I  got  up,  I  was 
very  feeble,  and  fit  for  none  but  the  lightest  work. 
I  could  not  even  embroider,  because  mine  eyes 
were  weak  ;  so  I  fell  back  upon  making  of  cherry- 
tree  and  strawberry-nets  against  summer ;  and 
on  my  knitting,  which  I  found  a  great  resource. 
Also  I  took  to  learning  by  heart  such  Psalms  as 
I  did  not  know,  and  whole  chapters  of  "  The  Im- 
itation of  Christ,"  and  found  great  comfort  there- 
in. 

'Twas  drawing  toward  Christmas-tide,  and 
very  warm  and  mild  for  the  season.  I  was  gather- 
ing such  late  flowers  as  still  bloomed  in  sheltered 
spots,  to  decorate  the  shrine  in  the  Lady  Chapel, 
when  Mother  Placida  came  to  tell  me  that  some 
one  had  come  to  see  me,  and  I  was  to  go  to 
Mother  Superior's  parlor  without  delay.  A  little 
thing  sufficed  to  disturb  me  in  those  days,  and 
I  was  already  trembling  and  flurried,  when  I 
entered  the  parlor.  The  first  person  I  saw  was 
my  father,  looking  much  better  in  health  and 
spirits  than  when  I  saw  him  last,  and  with  him  a 
fine,  handsome  lady.  Mother  Superior  was  pres- 
ent behind  the  grating,  and  looked  strangely  dis- 
turbed and  troubled.  My  father  raised  me  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  me  tenderly,  and  then  turning 
to  the  lady,  he  said  : 

"  This  is  my  daughter  Rosamond,  Julia.  Ros- 
amond, this  lady  is  my  wife  and  your  mother,  to 
whom  I  trust  you  will  pay  all  childly  duty  and 
courtesy." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       iyj 

It  could  but  have  been  something  of  a  shock  to 
me  to  know  that  my  father  was  married  again. 
Still  if  I  had  had  warning  and  a  little  time  to  con- 
sider the  matter,  I  trust  I  should  not  have  been 
wanting  in  my  duty  to  my  honored  father  and  his 
wife.  As  it  was,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  after 
staring  at  the  lady  for  a  moment,  I  dropped  in  a 
dead  faint  at  her  feet. 

When  I  began  to  revive  I  felt  the  fresh  air 
blowing  on  my  face,  and  heard  the  rustle  of  leaves 
above  me,  but  a  leaden  weight  seemed  to  press 
down  my  eyelids,  so  that  I  could  not  open  them. 
Kind  hands  were  busy  about  me,  and  I  presently 
heard  a  decided  but  clear  and  cheery  voice  say, 
"  She  is  coming  to  herself!" 

"  I  will  leave  you  together  !"  said  Mother 
Superior's  voice,  still  sounding  as  in  a  dream. 
Then  came  a  warm  hand  laid  on  mine  and  a  kiss 
pressed  on  my  forehead.  At  last  I  opened  mine 
eyes.  They  fell  on  a  very  pleasant  object — a 
lady  of  about  my  own  mother's  age,  but  perhaps 
handsomer,  though  in  a  different  way — somewhat 
dark,  with  a  beautiful  color,  bright  brown  eyes 
and  well  marked  eyebrows  —  the  whole  visage 
bearing  the  marks  of  a  keen,  clear-sighted  but 
withal  kindly  disposition.  The  dress  was  rich,  but 
sober  and  matronly.  I  looked  long  and  as  it  were 
in  a  kind  of  bewilderment,  till  with  a  kindly  smile. 
"  Well,  child,  take  a  good  look  at  me  !"  she  said. 
"  Do  I  look  like  a  monster,  or  the  cruel  step-dame;* 
in  the  ballads  ?" 


C]2         Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

"  No  indeed,  Madam!"  I  answered,  feeling  all 
the  blood  rush  to  my  face  in  a  flood.  "  I  am  sure 
you  look  like  ?  good-natured  gentlewoman.  It 
was  only  that  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise,  not 
knowing  or  thinking  of  any  such  thing." 

"I  see  —  I  see!"  she  interrupted.  "  Did  you 
not  know,  then  ?  Your  father  sent  letters  more 
than  two  weeks  before  us." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  them,"  I  answered. 

"  Poor  child,  no  wonder  you  were  taken  aback  !" 
said  my  step-dame.  "  Well,  Rosamond,  here  I 
am,  as  you  see.  I  trust  to  be  able  to  make  your 
father  a  good  wife,  and  to  supply  to  you  in  some 
degree  the  place  of  the  mother  you  have  lost.  I 
cannot  ask  you  to  give  me  all  at  once  the  affection 
which  a  child  owes  her  mother.  That  would  be 
out  of  all  reason.  What  I  do  ask  is  that  you  will 
not  judge  me  beforehand,  nor  conclude  that  I 
must  needs  be  a  tyrant  because  I  am  a  step-dame, 
but  use  your  own  eyes  and  judgment  and  persuade 
your  brother  to  do  the  same.  Your  mother,  so 
far  as  I  have  learned,  was  a  saint.  I  am  no  saint, 
but  a  faulty  woman — yet  I  trust  I  am  a  Christian 
woman,  and  one  who  means  to  do  her  duty. 

What  could  I  say  to  this,  but  that  I  would 
strive  to  do  my  part,  and  be  a  dutiful  and  loving 
child  to  her.  With  that  I  kissed  her  hand,  and 
she  my  cheek,  and  we  went  to  find  my  father, 
urhom  we  found  walking  the  parlor  in  evident 
perturbation,  which,  however,  seemed  to  clear  up 
as  we  entered. 


Hie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       iy$ 

"  Why,  that's  well,"  said  he  ;  then  changing  his 
tone,  "  but  what  have  they  been  doing  to  you, 
child  ?     Why,  you  are  but  the  ghost  of  yourself !" 

"I  have  been  very  ill,  dear  father,"  I  answered  : 
"  I  have  had  a  long  fever  which  lasted  many 
weeks,  and  from  which  nobody  thought  I  would 
rise  again." 

"And  why  was  I  not  apprised  thereof?  You 
are  no  nun  as  yet,  I  trow,  to  be  cut  off  from  your 
family  and  natural  friends.  What  say  you,  my 
Lady  ?  Shall  we  take  this  faded  rose  of  ours 
home,  and  see  if  it  will  not  revive  in  its  native 
soil  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  think  'twould  be  a  wise  move," 
answered  my  Lady :  "  change  of  air  is  always 
reckoned  good  in  these  cases,  and,  besides,  I  want 
Rosamond  to  help  me  settle  myself  in  my  new 
home.  What  says  she  ?  Sweetheart,  would  you 
like  to  go  with  us  to  Corby-End  ?" 

Oh,  how  my  heart  leaped  at  the  thought  of 
seeing  home  once  more  !  I  could  not  speak,  but 
I  kissed  my  father's  hand. 

"  Her  face  says  yes,"  says  my  step-dame,  smil- 
ing. 

"  And  are  you  then  so  ready  to  leave  old  friends 
for  new,  Rosamond  ?"  said  Mother  Superior,  re- 
proachfully. "Your  mother  who  gave  you  to 
this  holy  house  would  hardly  have  approved  such 
readiness  to  leave  it." 

I  thought  this,  I  must  needs  say,  an  ill-judged 
speech,  ancj  \  saw  mv  step-dame's  cheek  flush. 


174         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

though  she  said  not  a  word.  My  father,  however, 
answered  somewhat  hotly,  as  is  his  wont  when 
chafed  in  his  humor  : 

"My  daughter,  Madam,  is  not  yet  professed, 
and  is  therefore  under  the  rule  of  her  father." 

I  saw  Mother  Superior's  eye  kindle,  for  she  too 
hath  a  spark  of  temper,  and  I  dreaded  some  un- 
pleasant debate,  but  my  step-dame  interposed, 
and  by  I  know  not  what  gentle  and  honeyed 
words  of  courtesy,  she  managed  to  avert  the 
storm.  She  urged  my  evidently  failing  health, 
her  own  want  of  my  assistance,  and  the  need  of 
my  seeing  somewhat  of  the  world  before  making 
my  profession ;  and  finally,  I  hardly  know  how, 
'twas  settled  that  I  should  go  home  for  a  while. 
I  could  have  sung  for  joy.  True,  I  felt  it  would 
be  a  trial  for  me  to  see  a  strange  lady,  be  she 
ever  so  well  conditioned,  in  my  dear  mother's 
place,  and  ruling  where  she  ruled  ;  and  I  had 
also  some  fears  as  to  how  Harry  would  take  the 
change,  and  I  foresaw  trouble  with  Mrs.  Prudence. 
But  all  was  swallowed  up  in  the  overwhelming 
joy  of  going  home.  Ever  since  Amice  died,  the 
house  hath  seemed  to  me  like  a  prison,  as  if  I 
had  no  space  to  move  and  no  air  to  breathe. 

We  were  to  leave  that  afternoon  and  travel  by 
short  stages,  as  my  weakness  would  permit. 
Before  I  left  I  had  a  long  audience  with  Mother 
Superior,  who  mourned  over  me  as  over  a  tender 
lamb  going  forth  in  the  midst  of  wolves.  She 
gave  me  much  council  as  to  how  I  should  behave 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.        1/5 

— how  I  should  seclude  myself  as  far  as  possible 
from  all  worldly  society,  specially  men's  society, 
and,  above  all,  I  should  keep  aloof  from  my 
cousin  if  any  chance  threw  him  in  my- way.  I 
was  to  remember  always  that  I  was  the  same  as 
a  vowed  and  cloistered  nun,  and  to  observe  al- 
ways the  rules  of  my  Heavenly  Bridegroom's 
house,  recollecting  the  examples  of  those  saints 
who  had  set  at  naught  father  and  mother,  friends 
and  children,  for  the  sake  of  a  religious  life ;  and 
she  told  me  of  a  lady,  formerly  a  nun  in  this 
house,  who  being  a  widow  with  three  children, 
left  them  to  whoever  would  care  for  them,  and 
betook  herself  to  the  convent  ;  and  when  the 
eldest  son,  a  lad  of  some  twelve  years,  threw 
himself  across  the  threshold  of  the  door  with 
tears  and  besought  her  not  to  leave  them,  she 
just  stepped  over  his  prostrate  body  and  went 
her  way.* 

Now,  I  had  my  own  thoughts  on  this  matter. 
I  thought  the  woman  a  horrid  wretch,  nor  did 
I  believe  Heaven  would  smile  on  such  an  unnatu- 
ral mother.  Moreover,  it  seemed  to  me,  that  in 
my  father's  house,  I  should  properly  be  under  his 
rule,  and  that  of  my  step-dame,  his  Lady.  But  I 
have  learned  one  thing,  at  least,  in  my  convent 
education,  namely,  to  hear  all  and  say  nothing ; 
and  indeed  I  was  grieved  to  part  with  her  who 

•  This  Instance  of  devotion  is  related  of  Jeanie  de  Chantal,  the 
friend  of  Francis  de  Sales. 


1/6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

hath  been  a  second  mother  to  me.  So  I  strove 
to  content  her  in  all  things,  and  she  bade  me 
farewell  with  many  tears  and  blessings.  'Twas 
the  same  with  all  the  mothers  and  sisters,  save 
the  new  Mother  Assistant  and  Sister  Catherine. 
These  two  take  more  on  themselves  all  the  time, 
and  I  am  much  mistaken  if  Mother  Superior  does 
not  sometime  show  them  that  she  is  a  Vernon, 
and  mistress  in  her  own  house  to  boot. 

How  delightful  it  was,  despite  my  weakness, 
to  find  myself  once  more  on  horseback,  behind 
my  father,  breathing  the  free  air  of  the  moor,  and 
seeing  the  wide  world,  not  shut  in  by  high  stone 
walls  and  waving  trees  —  meeting  the  kindly 
glances  and  greetings  of  the  serving  men,  feeling 
myself  drawing  nearer  home  with  every  step,  and 
recognizing  one  familiar  tree  and  hill  after  another. 

We  stopped  one  night  at  the  house  of  my  Lady 
Gardener,  who  is  a  kinswoman  of  ours.  Here  my 
step-dame  would  have  me  go  at  once  to  bed,  and 
I  was  glad  to  do  so,  for  I  was  very  tired,  being 
weak  and  unused  to  the  motion  of  a  horse  for  so 
long.  Laay  Gardener  was  full  of  some  nostrum 
which  she  had  got  from  a  travelling  friar,  and 
which  was  to  cure  everything  in  the  world  ;  but 
my  step-dame  staved  off  the  dose,  I  don't  know 
how,  and  that  for  a  wtmder,  without  offending 
our  hostess  ;  persuading  her  that  some  of  her 
excellent  junkets  and  cream,  with  a  cup  of  wine 
whey,  would  be  far  better  for  me. 

"  Tis  not  dosing  you  want,  sweetheart  I"  said 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       ijj 

my  step-dame,  as  she  came  to  see  me  eat  my 
supper  :  "  you  are  young,  and  ought  to  be  able 
to  get  well  of  yourself.  Besides,  I  have  no  fancy 
for  friar's  nostrums  and  medicines,  whereof  I  know 
nothing." 

In  all  of  which  I  quite  agreed  with  her. 

I  was  much  better  next  day,  and  able  to  renew 
jiy  journey  with  good  courage  ;  and  now  I  found 
I  had  great  news  to  hear,  as  namely,  that  the 
proud  Cardinal  was  out  of  favor,  and  like  to  be 
wholly  disgraced  ;  and  what  struck  me  even  more, 
that  his  Majesty  had,  after  all  this  time,  waked 
up  to  the  fact  that  he  had  married  his  brother's 
widow — that  his  conscience — Heaven  save  the 
mark  ! — was  disquieted  thereat,  and  that  he  was 
moving  Heaven  and  earth,  and  perhaps,  as  my 
step-dame  said,  some  other  place  for  a  divorce. 
My  Lady  was  wholly  on  the  Queen's  side,  and 
said  some  very  sharp  things. 

"But  if  his  Majesty's  conscience  be  engaged  ?" 
said  my  father. 

"Oh,  his  conscience  —  his  conscience  would 
have  done  better,  methinks,  to  have  slept  alto- 
gether, since  it  had  slumbered  till  the  Queen 
grew  an  old  woman.  His  conscience  was  easy 
enough  till  Mistress  Bullen  came  from  France." 

And  here  she  seemed  to  remember  my  pres- 
ence, for  she  said  no  more.  For  mine  own  part 
her  words  seemed  to  throw  light  on  many  things, 
and  specially  on  the  business  of  the  diamond  ring 
which    had    moved    the    Queen     so    strangely. 


178       Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

Doubtless  this  was  the  grief  which  weighed  so 
heavy  on  the  poor  lady's  heart,  and  for  which  she 
had  sought  comfort  in  vain  at  the  shrine  of  St. 
Ethelburga. 

Well,  we  reached  home  in  safety,  and  were 
soon  settled  down  in  an  orderly  way  of  living,  my 
Lady  seeming  somehow  to  establish  her  sway  per- 
fectly, with  very  little  trouble  or  contention.  I 
think  she  is  one  of  those  people  born  to  rule,  to 
whom  government  comes  easy.  I  saw  but  little 
of  the  process,  being  taken  down  with  a  new  access 
of  my  fever,  which  lasted  two  or  three  weeks. 
Harry  told  me  afterward  she  had  no  trouble  with 
anybody  but  Prudence  and  Alice.  Alice  thought 
her  dignity  as  a  matron,  and  the  prospects  of  the 
baby  were  injured,  by  my  father's  presuming  to 
take  a  second  wife.  She  thought  he  ought  to 
remain  single  for  the  sake  of  his  children  ;  though 
I  don't  think  she  ever  thought  of  remaining  single 
for  his  sake.  However,  she  thinks  that  is  differ- 
ent, and  perhaps  it  may  be,  a  little.  Harry  is 
thoroughly  pleased,  and  when  I  hear  from  him 
how  matters  went  on — how  Prue  tyrannized,  and 
the  maids  rebelled,  and  how  uncomfortable  the 
whole  household  was  made,  especially  my  father, 
I  do  not  wonder.  My  Lady  being  just  what  she  is, 
I  can  honestly  say,  I  am  heartily  glad  of  her  com- 
ing among  us,  though  I  can't  but  speculate  what 
it  might  be  if  my  father  had  fancied  a  different 
kind  of  woman — somebody  like  Sjr>ter  Catherine, 
for  instance. 


Tlie  Stanton- Corbet   Chronicles.       iJQ 

Master  Ellenvvood  was  away  when  we  came 
home,  on  a  visit  to  his  sisters  in  Bristol  ;  but  he 
returned  just  when  I  was  getting  about,  and  in 
time  for  the  Christmas  holidays.  I  could  see 
that  he  was  shocked  at  first.  He  worshipped  my 
deai  mother  as  a  kind  of  saint,  and  though  they 
did  not  agree  on  some  matters — in  my  spending 
so  much  time  on  fine  needlework,  for  instance, 
when  he  would  fain  have  kept  me  at  my  Latin — 
yet  they  never  had  a  word  of  disagreement,  and 
they  used  to  have  many  conferences  on  religious 
and  spiritual  matters.  But  he  quite  agreed  with 
Harry  and  me  that  the  change  was  a  good  one 
for  my  father  and  the  rest  of  the  household,  and 
he  and  my  Lady  were  presently  good  friends. 
My  step-dame  is  quite  in  favor  of  my  taking  up 
my  lessons  again  when  my  health  is  once  more 
established.  She  says  she  has  known  many 
learned  ladies  who  were  none  the  worse  house- 
keepers and  managers  for  that,  and  she  instanced 
my  young  Lady  Latymer,  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas 
Parr,  whose  father  gave  her  a  most  excellent 
education,  even  to  having  her  taught  the  Greek 
tongue.  This  lady  is  my  step-dame's  great  friend, 
and  quite  a  pattern  in  the  court  for  her  piety  and 
discretion.  My  Lady  says  she  hopes  I  may  some 
day  make  her  acquaintance. 

[So  I  did ;  but  before  that  time  came  she  had 
passed  through  many  strange  mutations  of  fortune  y 
having  become  first  a  widoiv%  then  a  Queen ,  then  a 


/So         Lady  Rosamo7id;s  Book;  of, 

widow  again,  and  at  last  a  most  unhappy  wife, 
when  she  married  Sir  Thomas  Seymor,  Lord  High 
Admiral,  and  died  in  child-bed  not  long  after. 
She  wrote  many  excellent  pieces,  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  two  of  which,  "The  Complaint  of  a  Penitent 
Sinner,"  and  "Prayers  and  Meditations"  I  had  a 
present  from  this  godly  and  afflicted  lady's  own 
hand.] 

I  was  about  again  in  time  to  witness  the 
Christmas  revels,  though  not  to  take  any  great 
part  in  them.  Alice  and  her  husband  were  here 
with  their  boy,  and  I  think  my  Lady  hath  quite 
von  Alice's  heart  by  her  attention  to  the  brat, 
which  took  to  her  wonderfully.  I  saw  my  Lady's 
tyes  soften  and  fill  with  tears  as  she  held  the  child 
in  her  arms  and  looked  on  its  little  waxen  face. 

"Alice,  my  child,  God  hath  given  you  a  great 
treasure  !"  said  she,  and  presently  more  softly, 
lf  Me  thinks  fathers  and  mothers  should  have  a 
greater  and  deeper  sense  of  God's  love  toward 
his  fallen  creatures  than  any  one  else.  How  much 
must  you  love  any  one  before  you  could  give  the 
life  of  this  babe  for  him  ?" 

I  don't  think  this  remark  struck  Alice  so  much 
as  it  did  me,  but  I  pondered  on  it  many  times 
afterward.  I  had  often  been  reminded  of  our 
Lady  when  I  had  seen  a  mother  and  babe,  but  it 
had  never  occurred  to  me  to  think  so  much  of 
God's  love.  When  I  repeated  the  saying  to 
Master  Ellenwood,  he  said  : 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       18 1 

"Your  new  mother  is  a  most  precious  lady, 
Mistress  Rosamond.  I  believe  she  will  be  a 
blessing  to  this  house." 

Since  the  Christmas  revels,  our  time  has  passed 
quietly  enough.  I  have  had  two  or  three  attacks 
of  my  fever,  but  not  so  severe,  and  seem  gradu- 
ally getting  the  better  of  it.  Prudence  would 
fain  keep  me  shut  in  my  chamber,  on  the 
lowest  diet,  and  the  strongest  physic,  because  she 
says  it  stands  to  reason  that  a  fever  needs  bring- 
ing down.  But  to  this  my  Lady  will  by  no 
means  agree.  She  will  have  me  eat  heartily, 
specially  of  cream,  and  take  no  medicine  but  a 
certain  aromatic  and  bitter  cordial,  which  cer- 
tainly does  strengthen  me  wonderfully. 

I  have  heard  not  a  word  from  the  convent 
since  I  left,  and  my  father  will  by  no  means  hear 
of  my  going  back  at  present.  I  am  glad  of  it, 
for  I  am  very  happy  at  home,  and  after  what  has 
passed,  it  does  not  seem  as  though  I  could  ever 
breathe  under  that  roof  again.  This  home-life  is 
so  sweet !  I  do  not  see  how  any  vocation  can  be 
higher  than  that  of  a  wife  and  mother,  blessing 
and  profiting  all  about  her,  as  certainly  my  Lady 
does.  But  all  homes  are  not  like  mine,  I  know 
very  well — and  then  that  promise  ! 


f 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


April  23. 
UR  people  have  come  home,  with  a  fine 
budget  of  news,  to  be  sure.  First  the 
Pope  hath  sent  a  Cardinal  named  Cam- 
peggio,  or  some  such  name,  to  join  with 
Cardinal  Wolsey,  in  a  commission  to  try  the 
lawfulness  of  the  King's  marriage  with  the  Queen, 
and  there  is  to  be  a  court  held  for  that  purpose. 
Then  the  Cardinal's  favor  with  the  court  is  said 
to  be  decidedly  waning,  while  that  of  Mrs.  Anne 
Bullen  is  constantly  growing.  She  is  now  made 
Marchioness  of  Pembroke,  forsooth,  and  her  levees 
are  attended  by  the  nobles  of  the  court,  as  if  she 
were  already  queen  ;  and  nobody  has  any  doubt 
that  she  will  be  made  queen  if  the  marriage  with 
her  Grace  can  be  dissolved.  The  viper  !  I  re- 
member well  the  mocking  tone  in  which  she 
besought  her  Grace  not  to  betray  her  to  the 
King  !  My  poor,  dear  mistress  !  No  wonder  she 
brought  her  troubles  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Ethel- 
burga,  where  I  fear,  however,  she  found  little 
comfort. 
I  will  never  believe  that  was  the  true  book  of 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       iSj 

the  Gospel  which  Mistress  Anne  gave  Amice.  It 
was  some  work  of  the  devil,  meant  to  deceive 
and  destroy  souls.  And  yet,  when  I  recall  that 
last  night  with  my  friend,  can  I  think  all  that 
courage,  and  peace,  and  assurance,  and  tri- 
umphant joy  was  the  work  of  the  devil?  And  if  so, 
who  is  safe  ?  And  where  is  Amice  now  ?  I  dare 
not  think  of  it!  Whichever  way  I  turn  all  is 
confusion,  doubt  and  dread  ! 

The  last  piece  of  news  is,  that  my  Lord  is 
coming  home  next  week,  and  of  course  Richard 
with  him.  It  seems  a  long,  and  weary  journey 
for  my  Lady,  with  her  young  son,  and  the  roads 
are  terribly  unsafe.  They  must  be  well  on  their 
way  now.  I  must  say  an  additional  Hail  Mary 
every  day  for  their  safe  arrival.  It  would  be  such 
a  terrible  misfortune  if  any  harm  should  happen 
to  my  Lady  and  her  boy. 

I  don't  exactly  know  what  I  am  to  do  about 
meeting  Dick.  Doubtless  he  will  be  in  and  out 
with  Harry  as  usual,  and  of  course  I  must  meet 
him.  I  have  no  excuse  now  for  keeping  my 
chamber,  and  if  I  try  to  seclude  myself,  as  Mother 
Superior  desired,  I  shall  annoy  my  father  and 
mother,  cause  a  break  in  the  family,  and  make 
everybody  uncomfortable.  I  don't  quite  like  to 
speak  to  my  mother  about  it.  It  might  give  her 
a  false  notion  that  there  have  been  really  some 
love  passages  between  me  and  Dick,  and  make 
her  think  it  a  serious  matter,  which  it  is  not. 
Besides,  I  know  just  what  she  would  say.     She 


r8 4        Lady  Rosamond *s  Book;  Ot, 

does  not  like  to  think  or  speak  of  my  being  a 
nun,  and  indeed  I  think  my  father  is  coming  to 
mislike  the  notion.  I  believe  I  will  let  matters 
take  their  course.  Perhaps  if  Dick  has  grown  the 
fine  court  Squire  that  Mistress  Bullen  said,  he 
will  not  care  to  pay  me  any  attention.  I  do  not 
believe  it  any  the  more  for  her  saying  so. 

The  poor  Queen  !  My  heart  aches  to  think  of 
her  sitting  alone  and  forlorn,  while  her  husband 
goes  junketting  about  with  Mistress  Anne.  His 
conscience,  forsooth  !  Methinks  a  retreat — say 
among,  the  monks  of  La  Trappe  for  him,  and  the 
Poor  Clares,  or  the  silent  Carmelites  for  her,  would 
be  good  for  both  of  them.  If  I  had  the  ordering  of 
their  haircloth  and  parched  pease,  methinks  both 
would  be  of  the  hardest.  Father  says  it  is  so 
with  every  one  in  London.  The  women  are  all 
for  the  Queen,  and  the  men  take  the  part  of  the 
King,  or  Mistress  Bullen. 

This  morning  the  men  went  to  Biddeford  with 
the  wagons,  to  bring  up  some  goods  of  my 
fathers  and  mother's,  which  have  been  sent  round 
by  sea,  from  London.  My  father  and  Harry 
went  with  them,  to  see  all  safe,  and  hearing  that 
there  was  a  great  chest  of  books  among  the 
things,  Master  Ellenwood  must  needs  go  too.  I 
was  standing  at  the  door  watching  to  see  the  last 
of  them,  when  my  step-mother  came  to  me. 

"  Rosamond  !"  said  she,  after  she  had  asked 
after  my  health,  and  found  that  I  was  feeling  as 
well  as   usual,  "  there  is  a  certain  thing,  which 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       iSt 

needs  to  be  done,  and  this  day  of  your  father's 
absence  is  a  good  time  to  undertake  it ;  but  I  do 
not  wish  to  move  in  the  matter,  unless  you  feel 
able  to  help  me.  I  mean  the  opening,  airing,  and 
ordering  of  your  mother's  room  and  clothes. 
They  mus*t  needs  be  attended  to,  or  the  moths 
and  damp  will  ruin  them.  Moreover,  Alice  thinks 
that  she  should  have  her  share  of  the  clothes  and 
jewels,  and  maybe  she  is  right. 

(I  forgot  to  say,  in  the  right  place,  that  my 
step-dame  had  refused  to  occupy  my  mother's 
private  apartment,  but  had  chosen  one  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  where  she  had  her  dress- 
ing room,  and  her  private  closet,  in  which  she 
spent  an  hour  every  morning.) 

I  was  moved  at  first,  which  my  step-dame  saw. 

"  I  know  it  will  be  hard  for  you,  my  child,"  said 
she,  "  but  think  what  your  mother  would  wish  in 
the  matter." 

"  It  must  be  done,  of  course,"  said  I,  recover- 
ing myself,  "  and  I  will  help  you.  Dear  Madam, 
how  kind  you  are  to  me." 

"  And  why  should  I  not  be  kind,  sweetheart?" 
she  asked  me,  smiling.  "  You  are  my  dear  home 
daughter,  and  it  would  sure  be  an  unnatural 
mother  who  did  not  love  her  child." 

"  And  you  are  my  dear  mother,"  I  whispered, 
kissing  her  hand,  whereat  she  embraced  me  ten* 
derly,  and  we  went  together  to  open  my  mother's 
room. 

All  was  just  as  it  was  left  the  day  of  her  funeral ; 


rS6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  or> 

even  the  flowers  I  had  gathered,  lay  dried,  and 
^obwebbed  on  her  toilet-table. 

"  And  where  does  this  door  lead  ?"  asked  my 
lady,  after  we  had  unbarred  the  shutters,  and 
opened  the  windows. 

"  That  was  my  mother's  closet,"  I  answered, 
"where  she  used  to  spend  many  hours,  specially 
when  my  father  was  away.  I  suppose  we  had 
better  open  and  air  that  also."  And  I  found  the 
key  where  I  knew  she  kept  it,  in  a  box  on  the 
chimney.  We  opened  the  door  of  the  little  turret 
room,  not  without  difficulty,  for  the  lock  was 
rusted  and  moved  stiffly,  but  open  it  we  did  at 
last.  It  was  but  a  small  place.  There  was  an 
altar  and  crucifix,  of  course,  and  before  them  on 
the  floor  lay  a  rough  hard  mat,  rough  enough  of 
itself,  and  strewed  with  sharp  flints  to  make  it 
the  harder.  On  the  step  lay  a  discipline  of  knot- 
ted cords,  mingled  with  wire,  and  stained  here 
and  there,  as  if  by  blood.  I  had  never  thought 
of  my  dear  mother  as  using  such  penances,  and 
my  blood  ran  cold  at  the  sight  of  these  things. 
I  glanced  at  my  step-dame,  and  saw  her  face  full 
of  indignation  and  pity. 

"  Woe  unto  them,  for  they  have  made  sorrow- 
ful the  souls  of  the  righteous,  whom  God  hath 
not  made  sorrowful !"  she  murmured,  as  if  she  had 
forgotten  my  presence.  "Wee  to  the  false 
shepherds  who  oppress  the  sheep  !  Lord,  how 
long,  how  long  shall  the  ungodly  triumph  ?M 
Then  seeming  to  remember  me — "Rosamond,  w* 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       187 

will  leave  these  things  as  they  are,  for  the  pres- 
ent, at  least.  Let  the  moles  and  bats  prey  on 
them,  if  they  will.  The  day  may  come,  when  we 
will  clear  them  away." 

I  saw  she  was  greatly  moved,  as  was  I  myself, 
but  I  could  hardly  understand  her  expression.  It 
seemed  to  be  anger,  not  at  my  mother,  but  for 
her  sake.  She  recovered  herself  presently,  locked 
the  door  and  gave  me  the  key,  bidding  me  keep 
it  carefully.  Then  we  summoned  Prudence  and 
one  of  the  maids,  and  my  Lady  had  all  the  hang- 
ings taken  down  and  brushed,  the  floors  scrubbed 
and  polished  anew,  all  the  linen  and  garments 
taken  from  the  drawers  and  chests,  shaken  and 
refolded,  with  plenty  of  rose  leaves  and  lavender, 
and  sweet  woodroofe,  and  all  put  in  the  nicest 
order. 

"I  suppose  my  new  Madam  means  to  take  all 
my  dear  sainted  lady's  clothes  to  herself,  as  she 
has  taken  all  the  rest,"  grumbled  Prue,  as  my 
Lady  left  us  to  seek  some  essence  of  roses,  which 
she  said  some  one  had  brought  her  from  Tur- 
key. "  I  have  ever  looked  for  such  a  move,  but  I 
did  not  expect  to  see  you,  Mistress  Rosamond, 
abetting  her  in  doing  dishonor  to  your  dear  dead 
mother's  memory." 

Before  I  had  time  to  answer,  my  Lady 
returned  with  two  little  chrystal  and  gilded 
glasses,  which,  though  tightly  closed  with  glass 
and  vellum,  exhaled  a  most  delicious  perfume,  as 
jf  they  held  the  very  soul  of  tlje  summer  ro$?§ 


rS8        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  You  say  your  mother  loved  roses  ?"  she  said, 
after  I  had  admired  them  :  "  we  will  lay  one  of 
these  in  her  drawers,  and  you  shall  have  the  other. 
And  now  tell  me,  Rosamond,  would  you  like  to 
have  this  room  for  your  own  ?  I  have  spoken  or. 
the  matter  to  your  father,  and  he  says  you  may, 
if  you  choose." 

I  could  not  help  casting  a  glance  of  triumph  at 
Prue.  To  my  surprise  and  vexation  she  answered 
sharply,  before  I  had  time  to  speak  : 

"  Mistress  Rosamond  is  going  to  be  a  nun,  and 
pray  for  her  mother's  soul  In  the  convent,  instead 
of  flaunting  in  the  world.  She  will  want  no  room 
in  this  house,  since  she  is  to  live  in  the  house  oi 
God." 

My  Lady  gazed  steadily  at  Prudence  for  a 
moment,  till  the  woman's  sharp  eyes  fell  before 
hers.  Then  she  said  very  gravely,  and  even 
gently,  as  she  might  have  checked  a  wayward 
child  : 

"  Methinks  you  forget  yourself,  strangely." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madam,"  answered  Prue, 
sullenly,  and  as  if  the  words  had  been  as  it  were 
forced  from    her. 

"  Pardon  is  granted  for  this  time,"  answered 
Lady  Corbet,  with  quiet  dignity :  "  but  beware 
that  such  a  thing  does  not  happen  again.  I  have 
borne  much  from  you  for  the  sake  of  your  former 
mistress  ;  but  the  time  may  come  when  I  shall 
forbear  no  longer." 

Prue   choked  and   swallowed,   but   remained 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Gironicles.       160 

silent,  and  my  step-dame  repeated  her  question 
to  me,  adding :  "  you  see,  my  child,  the  house  is 
not  large,  and  with  Alice  and  her  babe  coming 
home  as  often  as  we  hope  she  may,  and  the  need 
of  entertaining  your  father's  friends  in  the  coun- 
try, we  can  scarce  afford  to  keep  this  room  closed 
up.  Still  we  will  make  shift  to  do  so,  if  the  using 
thereof  will  grieve  you." 

I  saw  there  was  reason  in  what  she  said,  and 
though  in  truth  I  would  rather  have  kept  my 
mother's  room  closed,  I  told  my  Lady  with  thanks 
that  I  would  take  it  for  my  own,  and  give  up  mine 
to  be  a  guest  chamber  instead.  No  sooner  had 
my  Lady  left  the  room,  than  Prudence  burst  forth  : 

"  So  this  is  my  reward  for  my  long  years  of 
faithful  service — yea,  of  slavery  in  this  house — to 
be  kicked  out  like  a  dog — to  be  insulted  in  my 
sainted  Lady's  own  room — the  very  room  you 
were  born  in,  Mistress  Rosamond  ;  and  more's  the 
pity,  I  say,  if  you  are  to  disobey  your  mother's 
commands  and  bring  the  guilt  of  sacrilege  on 
this  house  a  second  time  !  Alack,  alack  !  That 
ever  I  should  have  lived  to  see  a  step-dame  set 
over  this  house,  to  tyrannize  over  my  Lady's 
children  and  faithful  servants,  and  turn  the  house 
upside  down  without  any  reason  than  her  own 
will,  forsooth  !" 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  Prue  ?"  I  asked,  as  she 
stopped  lor  lack  of  breath.  "  Did  not  my  Lady 
give  her  reasons  for  the  change,  and  were  they 
not  wise  enough  ?    I  am  sure  I  thought  so/' 


2 go         Lady  Rosamond  s  Book;  or, 

"  Yes — she  and  her  reasons  ;"  returned  Prue.  "  I 
think  I  see  my  old  Lady  condescending  to  reason, 
as  you  call  it,  with  a  child  or  servant.  These  are 
new  times  indeed,  when  a  young  lady  is  to  be 
reasoned  with,  forsooth.  In  my  day  they  were 
taught  to  obey." 

I  could  not  help  laughing.  "  O  Prue,  Prue  ! 
what  think  you  my  mother  would  have  said,  if 
you  had  taken  up  her  words  as  you  did  my  Lady's 
this  morning  ?  And  how  easily  you  eat  your  own 
words.  First  you  rail  at  my  Lady  for  turning  the 
house  upside  down,  at  her  own  will,  and  then  for 
condescending  to  render  a  reason  for  her  doings. 
Which  is  right  ?" 

"  And  you,  Mistress  Rosamond,  that  was  as 
good  as  a  veiled  nun,"  pursued  the  old  woman, 
paying  no  heed  to  my  words,  "she  must  needs 
drag  you  from  your  convent  into  the  world  again 
and  give  you  cordials  and  wine,  and  what  not, 
while  you  were  ill,  as  if  every  one  did  not  know 
that  a  fever  ought  to  be  starved.  Doubtless  the 
next  thing  you  will  be  fitted  with  a  gay  bride- 
groom, and  flaunting  in  silks  and  satins — in  the 
court  itself  maybe,  to  catch  the  eye  of  the 
King." 

"  And  then  you  will  wish  to  go  and  keep  house 
for  me,  as  you  did  for  Alice,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  don't 
think  I  shall  want  you,  unless  you  learn  to  be 
better  natured,  any  more  than  she  did." 

Whereat  Prudence  began  noisily  to  weep,  and 
to  exclaim,  "  that  ever  she  bad  lived  to  see  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       igi 

day,"  and  so  on,  till  my  Lady  coming  back,  she 
rushed  away  to  her  own  dominions. 

"  Was  that  woman  a  favorite  with  your  mother, 
Rosamond  ?"  asked  my  Lady,  after  we  had  settled 
that  I  should  remove  immediately  to  my  new 
quarters. 

"  She  was  so,  though  I  could  never  understand 
why,"  I  answered  ;  "but  I  think  she  blinded  my 
mother  to  her  faults  by  affecting  an  excessive 
devotion." 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  my  Lady.  "  For  myself  I 
like  her  not.  She  seems  to  me  both  false  and 
cruel — two  faults  I  cannot  abide.  But  she  is  an 
old  servant  of  the  house,  and  we  will  have  patience 
with  her.  And  now,  sweetheart,  I  have  another 
matter  to  mention  to  you,  by  your  father's  desire. 
But  you  are  standing  too  long,  and  we  shall  have 
the  ague  coming  back  upon  us,  if  we  let  you  get 
over  busy.     Come  you  to  my  room  and  rest." 

My  Lady  would  have  me  sit  down  in  the  great 
cushioned  chair,  and  sent  her  own  maid  for  some 
cream  and  bread  for  me.  Then  she  opened  her 
matter,  which  was  this,  that  my  father  desired  I 
would  leave  off  the  plain  black  stuff  robe  and 
thick  coif,  veil  and  pinners  I  had  worn  ever  since 
I  came  home,  and  dress  like  other  young  ladies 
of  my  degree.  I  never  was  more  surprised  in  my 
life,  for  when  I  have  been  at  home  before,  my 
father  has  seemed  to  wish  to  keep  the  veil  always 
before  mine  eyes,  as  it  were. 

"Your  father  does  not  lay  his  commands  on 


192  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

you,  in  this  matter,"  said  my  step-dame.  "He 
does  not  wish  to  force  your  inclination,  but  he 
says  you  would  do  him  a  pleasure  if  you  would 
attire  yourself  according  to  your  rank.  Take  time 
and  think  about  it.  Your  father  will  not  be  at 
home  till  to-morrow  evening." 

That  afternoon  the  change  was  accomplished, 
and  I  lay  down  to  sleep  in  my  dear  mother's  room 
and  bed.  Just  as  I  was  undressing,  who  should 
look  in  upon  me,  but  Prudence  herself. 

"  So  you  are  here  !"  said  she,  with  an  ominously 
solemn  face.  "  You  are  not  wanting  in  courage, 
that  must  needs  be  said  of  you.  /  have  not 
slighted  my  dead  Lady's  commands,  nor  done  de- 
spite to  her  memory,  nor  broken  my  convent 
vows,  and  yet  I  would  not  pass  a  night  here  for  all 
my  Lady's  jewels.  I  hope  all  may  be  well  with 
you  in  the  morning,  that's  all." 

"  And  so  do  I !"  I  answered.   "  Why  not  ?" 

"  And  suppose  you  are  waked  in  the  night  by 
the  touch  of  a  cold  hand,  and  should  see  your 
mother's  ghost,  surrounded  by  the  flames  of  pur- 
gatory or  worse,  and  should  hear  her  voice 
reproaching  you  for  your  breach  of  your  vows  !  Or 
suppose  you  should  see  the  demon  which  haunts 
yon  woods — which  carried  off  the  Lady  Elgitha 
from  her  lover,  and  " — 

"  Or  suppose  you  should  shut  the  door  and 
mind  your  own  business  !"  said  I,  all  the  more 
vexed  because  I  was  a  little  scared.  "  In  the  first 
place,  I  have  broken  no  vows,  because  I  have 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       193 

made  none.  If  my  dear  mother  should  come  to 
visit  me,  it  would  be  to  bless,  or  at  worst  to 
reprove,  and  not  to  curse  ;  and  she  would  come 
surrounded,  not  by  flames  of  purgatory,  but  by 
airs  from  Paradise,  and  I  should  rejoice  to  see  her. 
And  as  for  the  demon  out  yonder,  he  has  no 
power  save  over  those  who  venture  into  his  do- 
mains after  nightfall,  nor  then,  unless  they  go  on 
a  bad  errand.  Methinks  you  were  best  to  depart 
before  my  Lady  comes  to  see  me  in  bed,"  (as  she 
has  always  done  since  my  illness.) 

Prue  took  the  hint,  and  was  departing,  when 
she  nearly  ran  over  my  Lady. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  says  my  Lady, 
not  without  some  sharpness. 

"  If  it  please  you,  Madam,  I  meant  no  offence  !" 
Nsaid  Prudence,  demurely.  "  I  came  but  to  see 
that  Mistress  Rosamond  had  a  night  light,  in 
case  anything  should  happen  before  morning :" 
and  casting  a  parting  glance  full  of  anger  at  us 
both,  she  courtesied  and  departed. 

"  Was  that  really  her  errand  ?"  asked  my 
Lady. 

"Hardly,  I  think,"  said  I.  "I  believe  she 
only  came  to  scare  me,  if  she  could  :"  and  then  I 
recounted  what  she  had  said.  My  Lady  seemed 
much  moved. 

"  Aye,  that  is  always  the  way — flames,  and 
devils,  and  all  kinds  of  bugs,  to  scare  the  little 
ones  whom  He  bade  come  to  himself:"  she 
murmured,  as  if  to  herself ;  then  to  me,  "Dear 


194       Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

child,  be  not  you  scared  by  these  fables.  Think 
not  of  your  mother  as  tormented  in  flames  of 
purgatory,  or  worse,  because  she  married  a 
worthy  man  and  lived  and  died  a  faithful  Christian 
wife  and  mother.  Believe  as  I  do,  that  they  who 
put  their  trust  in  the  Lord  shall  never  taste  the 
bitterness  of  death,  but  that  being  absent  from 
the  body  they  are  at  home  with  the  Lord.  *  They 
shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more, 
neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat. 
For  the  Lamb  shall  lead  them  to  fountains  of 
living  water,  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears 
from  their  eyes.'" 

I  had  heard  these  words  before,  from  one  who 
found  comfort  in  them  when  she  was  void  of  all 
human  consolation,  and  they  came  to  me  like  an 
echo  of  her  voice. 

"  I  do  not  fear,  dear  Madam  !"  I  answered  her, 
and  then  I  told  her  how  I  had  before  been  com- 
forted concerning  my  mother  in  my  night  watch. 
After  she  had  bade  me  good-night,  with  a  kiss  and 
a  blessing,  I  said  my  prayers  once  more,  repeated 
the  ninety-first  Psalm,  and  lay  down  to  rest.  I 
wont  deny  that  I  felt  a  little  shiver  of  fear  when 
I  woke  once  in  the  night  and  saw  the  waning 
moon  shining  in  at  the  casement,  and  heard  the 
mournful  calling  of  the  sea,  and  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  in  the  trees,  while,  an  owl  whooped 
dismally  in  the  wood  ;  but  I  remembered  my 
Psalm,  said  my  prayers,  and  falling  asleep,  did 
not  wake  till  dawn. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       tg^ 

Touching  this    change  of  dress — I  have  been 
considering  the  matter,  and  it  does  seem  to  me 
as  if  I  ought  to  pleasure  my  father  therein.     I  can 
honestly  say  the  change  will  be  no  pleasure  to 
me.     I  was  never  fond  of  dress.     I  care  not  the 
trouble  of  it,  and  am  quite  content  with  my  stuff 
gown  and  linen  pinners,  which  cost  me  but  little 
time  and  thought.     Moreover,  it  was  the   dress 
in  which  my  dear  mother  liked  best  to  see  me. 
I  know  Mother  Superior  would  say  'twas  my  duty 
to  cast  aside  all  considerations  of  earthly  affec- 
tion, like  that  woman  she  told  me  of  who  left  her 
children  to  go  to  the  convent.     But  my  mother 
herself  was  wont  to  please  my  father  in  all  things, 
and  she  taught  us  children  to  do  so.     I  am  quite 
sure  Father  John  would  say  the  same,  but  I  can't 
ask  him,  because  he  is  in  Exeter,  and  will  not  be 
at  home  till  night.     My  Lady  has  had  my  dress 
made  all  ready  for  me — a  gown   of  fine    brown 
woolen  stuff,  such  as  she  wears  herself,  with  large 
sleeves  and  linen    undersleeves,  garnished  with 
French  lace,  a  petticoat  of  blue  damask   and  a 
hood  of  the  new  fashion,  made  of  blue  silk  and 
garnished  with  lace  like  the  sleeves  ;  also  a  long 
tasseled  girdle  and  wide-falling  band  of  lace  or 
lawn,  but  no  mufflers  or  pinners,  and  no  veil.     It 
lies  on  my  bed  at  this  moment,  and  I  must  decide, 
because  my  Lady  would  have  me  put  it  on  to  meet 
my  father. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


HAVE  really  put  on  my  dress,  my  Lady's 
gentlewoman,  Mistress  Warner,  arrang- 
ing it  for  me,  which  she  did  with  many 
exclamations  at  the  improvement  in  my 
appearance.  I  must  needs  own  that  it  is  very  be- 
coming, but  I  do  not  as  yet  feel  at  home  therein. 
When  all  was  complete,  I  went  to  my  Lady's 
room.     She  was  much  pleased. 

11  Be  sure,  maiden,  you  will  lose  nothing  by  thus 
giving  up  your  will  to  your  father,"  said  she,  kiss- 
ing my  cheek  :  "  I  know  very  well,  that  there  is 
no  vanity  in  your  heart,  but  that  'tis  a  real  taking 
up  of  the  cross,  for  you  to  leave  off  the  dress  you 
liked  to  pleasure  your  parents,  and  the  self-denial 
will  have  its  reward." 

"  I  never  thought  of  any  self-denial !"  said  I. 

"  I  dare  say  you  did  not,"  she  answered,  smiling, 
and  arranging  my  hood. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  dislike  to  leave  off  all  this 
finery  when  the  time  comes  for  me  to  return  to 
the  convent.  I  am  afraid  I  have  begun  to  dread 
that  return  already  •  but  as  my  Lady  says,  "  Suffi- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       igy 

cient  unto  the  time  is  the  evil  thereof."  That 
seems  to  me  a  wondrous  wise  saying.  I  wonder 
where  she  found  it,  or  whether  it  is  her  own  ? 

When  I  met  Prudence  she  raised  up  her  hands 
and  eyes  :  "  Lo,  did  I  not  say  as  much  ?  The  silks 
and  satins  have  come  already — next  thing  my 
Lady  will  find  some  needy  kinsman  of  her  own  to 
whom  my  Lady  Rosamond's  portion  will  be  a  con- 
venience, and  then  comes  a  wedding — and  then 
—Well,  well,  when  it  comes,  maybe  my  words 
will  be  believed." 

"  Maybe  so  !"  I  answered,  "  and  maybe  we  shall 
catch  larks  when  the  sky  falls,  but  I  doubt  it" 

"  Mrs.  Prue  hates  weddings  because  she  could 
never  get  a  goodman  herself !"  said  Master  Lee, 
our  old  house  steward,  between  whom  and  Pru- 
dence is  perpetual  war.  "  For  my  part,  I  ever 
said  Mistress  Rosamond  was  too  good  for  a  clois- 
ter. There  are  plenty  of  sallow  cheeks  and 
vinegar  faces,  that  would  be  all  the  better  for  a 
veil  !" 

Whereat  Prudence  turned  on  him  like  a  fury, 
and  I  retreated  from  the  war  of  words  to  mine 
own  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIV, 


April  25 y  Sunday. 
Y  father  and  brother  came  home  safely, 
and   my  Lady  and  I  met   them  in  the 
hall. 

"  Heyday,  what  gay  lady  have  we 
here  ?"  cried  my  father,  cheerily  :  "  Here,  let  me 
look  at  you.  I  must  say  she  becomes  her  change 
of  dress  well,  does  she  not,  Harry  ?" 

"  She  is  liker  my  mother  than  ever,"  said  Harry 
in  his  blunt  way,  and  then  to  mend  the  matter, 
"  I  crave  your  pardon,  Madam." 

11  For  what  ?"  asked  my  Lady,  smiling  on  him 
kindly  ;  whereat  Harry  blushed  worse  than  ever, 
and  retreated  behind  my  father. 

"  Well,  well,  child,  you  are  a  good  maid,  and 
shall  lose  nothing  by  thus  pleasuring  your  pa- 
rents," said  my  father,  patting  my  cheek  as  he 
spoke.  "  Your  new  ornaments  show  fairly  on 
you,  and  as  Harry  says,  make  you  more  like  than 
ever  to  your  mother." 

"  Mistress  Rosamond  has  inherited  one  of  her 
mother's  ornaments,  worth  more  than  gold  or 
jewels,"   observed     Master    Ellenwood  ;    "  even 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       19Q 

that  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which 
is  beyond  all  price." 

I  could  not  but  be  pleased  and  pained  too,  for 
I  knew  very  well  that  I  did  not  deserve  my 
tutor's  praise.  I  know  that  I  have  anything  but 
a  meek  spirit. 

This  morning  we  all  went  to  church  as  usual, 
in  the  village.  Father  John  has  come  home,  and 
a  strange  priest  with  him — a  Franciscan  friar  I 
tried  to  think  of  nothing  but  my  duty,  but,  truth 
to  tell,  my  mind  was  a  little  distracted  by  my 
change  of  dress,  and  the  thought  that  people 
were  observing  me.  I  was  presently,  however, 
effectually  diverted  by  an  announcement  made 
from  the  altar  by  Father  John — namely,  that 
'twas  the  King's  pleasure  that  for  the  better  in- 
struction of  the  people  in  faith  and  duty,  the 
Credo  and  the  Ten  Commandments  should 
henceforth  be  said  in  English  !  This  is  a  change 
indeed  !  I  saw  my  Lady  and  Master  Ellenwood 
exchange  glances,  and  many  wondering  looks 
passed  among  the  congregation.  I  thought  Fa- 
ther John  had  no  great  love  to  his  task,  and  the 
strange  priest  looked  black  as  night.  There  was 
no  sermon,  and  we  were  presently  walking  home 
again  over  the  green.  My  father  stepped  to 
speak  to  some  one,  and  Harry  gave  his  hand  to 
my  Lady  to  lead  her,  blushing  like  a  rose  as  he 
did  so,  but  as  usual  she  put  him  at  his  ease  pre- 
sently, and  he  walked  by  her  side  in  silence,  till 
she  said  playfully 


200        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  A  groat  for  your  thoughts,  my  fair  son  !" 

Harry  answered  without  any  of  his  usual  h«  * 
tation : 

"I  am  thinking,  Madam,  about  that  second 
commandment— about  the  images,  I  mean.  Why 
then  do  we  have  images  in  the  churches  ?" 

"  Master  Ellenwood,  you  are  the  scholar,"  said 
my  Lady,  turning  to  him,  "Will  you  resolve 
us  our  doubt  ?  Why  do  we  have  images  in  the 
churches  ?" 

"  The  doctors  would  say  that  it  is  to  excite 
our  devotion  by  the  presence  of  visible  represen- 
tations—  not  for  that  the  image  should  be 
worshipped,"  answered  Master  Ellenwood  ;  "  but 
it  may  perhaps  be  doubted  how  far  this  distinction 
is  kept  in  mind — specially  among  the  more  igno- 
rant." 

"  But  the  command  says,  '  Thou  shait  not  bow 
down  to  them,' "  persisted  Harry  ;  "  and  every  one 
does  that.     I  don't  understand  it,  for  my  part." 

"  There  are  more  than  you,  in  the  same  puzzle, 
my  boy,"  said  Master  Ellenwood,  smiling  rather 
sadly. 

"  And  you,  Master  Ellenwood,  what  think  you 
of  this  new  move  of  the  King  ?"  asked  my  Lady. 

"  I  think,  Madam,  that  the  man  who  would 
keep  out  the  sea,  does  not  well  to  make  a  hole  in 
the  dyke — no,  though  the  hole  be  no  larger  than 
his  little  finger,"  said  Master  Ellenwood.  gravely. 

1  think  Master  Ellenwood  much  changed  since 
I  have  been  away.      He  seems  graver  than  his 


7%e  Stanton- Corbet   Chronicles.       20i 

wont,  and  his  face  hath  oftentimes  a  deep  shade 
of  sadness.  He  is  absent-minded  also,  even  at 
our  lessons,  and  will  sometimes  let  Harry  make 
the  most  dreadful  mistakes  in  his  quantities, 
without  taking  any  notice  of  them. 

But  Harry's  Latin  will  soon  come  to  an  end. 
It  is  quite  settled  now  that  he  is  to  sail  from 
Plymouth  with  Captain  Will  Hawkins,  who  is 
going  to  the  Brazils,  on  an  exploring  and  trading 
voyage.  Harry  is  wild  with  delight.  He  has 
the  true  Corbet  love  of  sea-wrandering,  and  has 
already  been  two  voyages,  one  to  the  Levant, 
and  one  to  the  North  seas  ;  so  it  is  not  mere 
ignorant  longing  for  he  knows  not  what.  It 
seems  hard  to  me,  and  scarcely  right,  that  the 
only  son  of  our  house  should  be  exposed  to  such 
perils  as  that  of  a  voyage  to  an  unknown  and 
savage  coast,  where  he  may  be  taken  and  held 
in  lifelong  bondage  by  the  barbarians,  or  still 
worse  by  the  Spaniards,  or  devoured  by  wild 
beasts,  or  stricken  by  fever.  But  my  father  hath 
given  his  consent,  so  I  suppose  there  is  no  help. 
My  father  kindly  condescended  to  give  me  his 
reasons. 

"  The  boy  hath  the  salt  drop  in  his  blood,  like 
all  his  race.  You  could  no  more  keep  him  at 
home,  than  you  could  keep  a  duck  from  the 
water ;  and  if  you  could  he  would  be  good  for 
naught.  Not  but  Harry  is  a  dutiful  son,  and 
would  give  up  his  longing  to  please  me,  if  I  in- 
sisted ;   but  he  would  be  unhappy  and  restless. 


202  Lady  Rosamond's  Book, 

As  for  danger,  I  reek  not  so  much  of  that,  since 
danger  lurks  everywhere.  The  merchant  whc 
never  laid  hand  to  sword,  may  be  slain  by  rob- 
bers in  his  own  shop,  and  the  lazy  monk  may  die 
of  a  surfeit  in  the  cloister.  I  know  Will  Hawkins 
well,  for  an  honest,  faithful  and  good-natured 
gentleman  —  albeit  something  of  the  roughest, 
as  these  sea  dogs  are  apt  to  be.  He  hath  been 
my  friend  of  many  years  standing,  and  I  doubt 
not  will  do  well  by  Harry,  and  I  shall  feel  far 
safer  about  the  boy  than  if  he  were  in  the  Court, 
like  poor  Dick." 

All  this  is  true  without  doubt,  nevertheless,  it 
will  be  hard  to  let  Harry  go.  Prudence  will  have 
it  that  the  scheme  is  of  my  Lady's  concoction  ; 
whereas  my  Lady  hath  been  against  it  from 
the  first ;  though  since  my  father  decided,  she  has 
done  her  best  to  forward  Harry's  preparations. 
Harry,  for  his  part,  adores  his  step-mother  with 
a  kind  of  dumb  worship,  and  hangs  about  her  as 
his  old  deerhound  Oscar  does  about  them  both 
He  hath  formally  presented  Oscar  to  my  Lady, 
and  she  hath  promised  to  care  for  him.  Only 
that  I  think  her  influence  so  good,  I  could  almost 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  jealous. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


April  30. 
Y  Lord  and  Lady  have  come,  with  all 
their  train,  and  we  have  been  up  to  the 
great  house  to  pay  our  visit.  Having 
never  seen  my  Lady  Stanton,  I  was 
naturally  curious  about  her.  My  mother  told  me 
that  she  was  very  beautiful,  and  gentle,  and 
highly  accomplished  ;  but  I  was  as  much  amazed 
at  her  beauty  as  if  I  had  never  heard  a  word. 
Truly  I  never  saw  anything  so  lovely.  She  made 
me  think  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  a  white  musk 
rose,  fairest  of  flowers  to  look  upon,  and  shed- 
ding sweetness  around  ;  but  alas,  too  soon  fading 
and  easily  shaken  to  pieces,  even  in  its  freshest 
bloom.  She  was  overjoyed  to  see  my  step- 
mother, and  welcomed  me  with  a  grace  and 
warmth  which  made  me  feel  at  home  with  her 
directly.  She  would  have  us  stay  and  spend  the 
day  with  her,  and  sent  for  my  father  and  Harry 
to  come  to  supper.  Of  course  she  and  my  mother 
had  a  hundred  matters  to  discuss,  of  which  I 
knew  nothing  ;  but  I  was  quite  content  to  listen 
while  they  talked  over  the  news  of  the  Court, 


204        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

especially  when  the  matter  of  the  King's  divorce 
came  up.  It  seems  quite  decided  that  there  is  to 
be  a  divorce  by  some  means  or  other,  though 
the  Pope  throws  difficulties  in  the  way.  Mean- 
time my  dear  Mistress  is  no  more  treated  by  the 
King  as  his  wife,  and  hardly  hath  she  honor  as 
Queen,  while  Mistress  Anne,  forsooth,  hath  her 
ladies  in  waiting,  and  her  levees,  with  the  King 
dining  with  her  and  making  hunting  and  hawk- 
ing parties  with  her,  and  all  paying  their  court, 
as  though  she  were  already  Queen.  It  made  my 
blood  boil  but  to  hear  of  her,  and  my  mother 
was  sterner  than  ever  I"  saw  or  heard  her,  in 
reprobation  of  Mistress  Anne's  treacherous  and 
light  conduct. 

44  Yet  they  say  my  Lady  Marchioness  is  well 
affected  toward  the  new  doctrines,  and  those  who 
hold  them  !"  said  my  Lady, 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  doctrines,"  an- 
swered my  mother.  "  The  truth  hath  no  such 
enemies  as  they  who  hold  it  in  unrighteousness. 
But  what  of  the  new  doctrines  ?" 

44  They  spread  wondrously,  no  one  knows 
how  !"  answered  my  Lady.  (i  Copies  of  Master 
Tyndale's  New  Testament  make  their  way  in 
all  quarters,  even  in  the  Court  itself;  and  all 
men's  minds  are  in  a  ferment.  The  Greek  learn- 
ing is  more  in  favor  than  ever  in  some  quarters, 
and  more  bitterly  opposed  in  others.  We  heard 
a  furious  sermon  against  it  in  Salisbury,  where  we 
stayed  a  few   days.     The    preaching  friar  said 


The  Stanton-  Corbet  Chronicles*       205 

that  Hebrew  was  the  language  of  unbelieving 
Jews,  and  Greek  of  idolatrous  infidels  and 
schismatics  ;  while  Latin  was  the  tongue  of  the 
Church  and  the  Pope,  and  more  fit  to  hold  the 
Holy  Scriptures  than  the  vulgar  tongue,  which 
was  used  for  all  base  purposes."* 

"I  suppose  Latin  must  have  been  the  vulgar 
tongue  with  the  Romans,"  I  ventured  to  say  : 
11  doubtless  the  Roman  ladies  scolded  their 
maids  and  their  children,  and  gave  orders  about 
meat,  and  wine,  and  spinning,  just  as  we  do  in 
English." 

"  You  are  right,  cousin,"  answered  my  Lady  ; 
"and  when  St.  Jerome  translated  the  Scripture 
into  Latin,  he  put  it  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  as  its 
name  signifies." 

"  But  by  wThat  means  do  the  Testaments  come 
into  this  country  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Chiefly  by  means  of  the  Hamburg  and  other 
German  merchants.  Tis  said  there  is  an  associa- 
tion called  the  Christian  Brothers,  composed  of 
the  richest  and  best  traders  of  London,  who 
make  it  their  business  to  disperse  the  new 
Gospels  in  all  directions  throughout  the  land." 

"  And  what  says  the  Cardinal  to  all  this  spread 
of  heresy  ?"  asked  my  mother. 

"The  Cardinal  is  full  of  other  matters,  and 
like  to  be   fuller,"   answered   my  Lady.     "The 

•  This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  preaching  friars'  discours  s,  judging 
Tom  those  that  have  come  down. 


206         Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  or, 

Lady  Anne  hates  him  venomously,  because  he 
will  pay  her  no  court,  and  all  men  predict  his 
speedy  downfall.  Wolsey  himself,  men  say, 
grows  weary  of  his  life.  Tis  said  he  told  the 
French  embassador,  that  could  he  once  see  this 
marriage  question  settled,  the  peace  accom- 
plished, and  the  laws  and  customs  of  the  kingdom 
reformed,  he  would  retire  and  serve  God  the  rest 
of  his  days. 

"  Alack,  poor  man  !"  said  my  mother.  "  He 
would  finish  his  worldly  gear  first,  and  then 
serve  God  afterward.  But  surely  his  downfall 
must  make  great  changes." 

"  Yes,  and  for  that  reason  many  are  fain  to  see 
him  fall.  His  unbounded  pride,  and  display,  and 
his  lust  of  power,  make  him  enemies,  especially 
among  the  nobles,  who  can  ill  brook  to  see  a 
clerk,  the  son  of  a  butcher,  set  over  all  their 
heads.  Yet  there  are  others,  and  those  far-seeing 
men,  who  dread  his  downfall.  He  is  certainly  a 
check  on  his  Majesty,  and  has  more  than  once 
crossed  his  humor  as  no  other  man  dare  for  his 
life.  Then  with  all  his  faults,  he  is  neither  mean 
nor  cruel,  and  his  own  household  are  devoted  to 
him." 

By  this  time  the  babe  was  awake,  and  we  went 
to  the  nursery  to  see  him.  He  is  a  delicate  little 
fellow,  very  lovely,  and  like  his  mother  ;  but  by 
no  means  so  stout  or  fat  as  a  babe  of  his  age 
should  be.  My  mother  strongly  counselled  my 
Lady  to  give  him  no  medicine,  but  to  take  him 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       207 

out  in  the  air  as  much  as  might  be.  The  mother 
and  child  together  were  a  most  beautiful  sight ; 
yet  I  heard  my  mother  sigh,  as  she  gazed,  and 
my  heart  echoed  the  sigh,  I  hardly  knew 
why. 

When  we  went  out  to  the  gardens,  as  we  did 
on  leaving  the  nursery,  we  encountered  my  Lord 
and  Richard.  My  Lord  paid  his  compliments, 
with  his  usual  easy  grace,  to  my  mother  and  my- 
self, and  then  turned  eagerly  to  my  Lady,  whom 
it  seems  he  had  left  sleeping.  It  was  pretty  to  see 
his  earnestness  to  know  whether  she  had  slept 
well ;  was  she  refreshed,  had  she  eaten,  and  so  on. 
Even  his  boy  seemed  of  little  consequence  be- 
side his  wife.  Meantime  Dick  and  I  exchanged 
greetings  in  our  old  cousinly  fashion.  I  had 
expected  to  see,  I  know  not  what  change,  and 
'twas  a  real  comfort  to  me  when  Dick  dropped 
his  beaver  in  his  old  clumsy  fashion,  as  he  saluted 
*me.  Presently,  in  walking  through  the  maze, 
we  found  ourselves  chatting  as  if  we  had  not 
been  parted  a  day.  I  felt  as  though  I  must  needs 
take  Dick  to  task  for  getting  me  into  such  a 
scrape  by  the  means  of  Mistress  Bullen,  and  was 
considering  how  best  to  begin,  when  himself 
saved  me  the  trouble.  His  first  words  took  me 
all  aback. 

"  Rosamond,  why  did  your  Lady  Abbess  send 
back  the  packet  of  Venetian  silks  and  beacnj  I 
sent  her  ?  I  don't  think  'twas  very  gracious  in 
ber  to  reject  my  little  offering." 


208  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  ory 

I  believe  I  stared  at  him  like  a  fool.  'What 
do  you  mean  ?"  I  asked,  simply. 

44  Why,  I  mean  the  packet  I  sent  her  by  Mis- 
tress Bullen,"  answered  Dick,  looking  surprised 
in  his  turn.  44 1  saw  my  Lady  Latimer  and  my 
Lady  Denny  at  work  with  these  beads  and  silks, 
embroidering  of  stools  and  covers  ;  and  knowing 
how  famous  your  house  is  for  fine  work,  I  thought 
the  like  materials  would  make  an  acceptable 
offering,  please  the  Lady  Abbess,  and  perhaps 
yourself.  So  I  asked  my  Lady  cousin  to  buy  the 
things  for  me,  and  sent  them  by  the  hands  of 
Mistress  Bullen,  as  I  said ;  and  much  amazed  I 
was  to  have  them  returned  on  my  hands  by 
Master  Griffith." 

I  saw  it  all  in  a  minute  ;  and  despite  my  vexa- 
tion I  could  not  help  laughing  to  think  how  dear 
Mother  Superior  had  cheated  herself. 

44  Mistress  Bullen  was  a  Corby  messenger,"  I 
said,  as  soon  as  I  could  compose  my  face.  44  She 
made  a  great  mystery  of  the  matter,  giving  me 
the  packet  in  secret,  telling  me  that  you  had 
bidden  her  give  it  me  privately.  Only  that  dear 
Mother  is  so  good  and  right-minded,  1  should 
have  been  in  a  serious  scrape." 

Dick  looked  vexed  enough. 

44  Just  what  I  might  have  expected  !"  said  he  ; 
44  Mistress  Anne  is  a  born  mischief-maker  !  She 
said  you  told  her  you  "had  nothing  to  say  to  any 
Court  popinjay  ;  even  if  you  married,  you  looked 
for  a  higher  match  than  the  poor  kinsman  of  a 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       2og 

lord,  but  you  would  rather  be  Abbess  of  a  good 
house  than  to  be  any  man's  house-dame." 

"  I  never  said  such  a  word  I"  I  told  him.  "  It 
would  ill  become  me  to  be  talking  of  such 
matters  !" 

"  It  did  not  sound  like  you,  and  I  did  not  be- 
lieve her  when  she  spoke,"  said  Richard :  "  I 
could  not  think  you  so  changed  in  a  short  time. 
But  I  cannot  help  laughing,  now  I  know  the 
right  of  the  matter,  to  think  how  the  good  Mother 
cheated  herself.  And  yet,  since  she  did  believe 
the  packet  to  be  yours,  'twas  like  a  high-minded 
lady  not  to  open  it." 

"She  is  a  high-minded  lady  !"  I  said.  "I  wish 
she  had  opened  the  parcel,  because  then  I  should 
have  been  quite  cleared  in  her  eyes,  and  yet  I 
respect  her  the  more  for  not  doing  so.  When  I 
can  write  to  her  I  will  tell  her  how  it  was." 

"Aye,  and  send  the  packet  back  at  the  same 
time,  if  you  will,"  said  Richard.  "  I  have  brought 
you  some  things  of  the  same  sort." 

"  Richard  !"  said  I,  presently,  after  we  had 
walked  in  silence  a  little  way :  "  I  heard  my 
mother  and  my  Lady  talking  about  the  spread 
of  the  new  doctrine,  and  the  new  English  Testa- 
ments.    Have  you  seen  any  of  these  books  ?" 

"  Aye,  have  I,"  said  Richard  :  "  they  are  fall- 
ing about  London  and  the  Court  as  plenty  as 
lady-birds." 

"  And  what  do  the  bishops  and  priests  say  to 
them?" 


2W  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  They  would  like  to  burn  the  books  and  the 
readers  with  them,  and  'tis  a  wonder  if  they  don't 
have  their  will  of  some  of  them  !"  said  Dick  : 
44  The  preaching  friars  and  the  monks  are  as  busy 
as  the  devil  over  Lundy  in  a  gale, of  wind  ;  but 
the  smoke  is  out  of  the  chimney  and  the  cat  out 
of  the  bag,  and  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the 
king's  men  can't  get  them  in  again." 

11  But  why  are  the  priests  so  much  opposed  to 
the  spread  of  these  books  ?"  I  asked.  "Do  they 
say  they  are  not  the  true  gospel  ?  " 

"  Aye,  that  is  the  pretext,  of  course  !"  an- 
swered Dick  ;  "  I  heard  one  of  them  say  that  all 
Tyndal's  books  were  printed,  which  showed 
plainly  that  they  were  not  the  true  gospel,  since 
the  Church  had  always  had  the  gospel,  and  every 
one  knew  that  there  were  no  printed  books  fifty 
years  ago." 

"Oh,  Dick,"  said  I,  "you  should  not  joke 
about  such  matters." 

"  'Tis  no  joke,  but  sober  earnest,"  said  Dick  ; 
"  I  heard  him  myself,  and  so  did  many  others,  who 
laughed  in  the  preacher's  face  ;  for  they  can't  make 
people  swallow  their  words  whole  as  they  used 
to.  What  with  the  abolishment  of  the  benefit  of 
clergy  and  the  new  Greek  learning,  the  poor  old 
fellows  are  getting  it  on  all  sides.  I  myself  heard 
a  well  learned  gentleman  say  that  Erasmus  his 
Greek  Testament  had  done  more  for  the  spread 
of  the  new  doctrines  than  Tyndale  his  English 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronictes.       4t/ 

"  I  know  Master  Ellenwood's  Greek  Testament 
is  never  out  of  his  hand  when  he  has  a  moment's 
leisure,"  I  said.  "  I  would  I  knew  Greek.  But 
Richard,  you  only  answered  half  my  question, 
Have  you  looked  into  any  of  these  books  ?" 

"  If  I  tell  you  I  have  read  one  from  end  to  end, 
you  will  hold  me  for  little  else  than  a  reprobate, 
I  dare  say,"  answered  Richard. 

"  I  shall  certainly  hold  the  book  for  something 
wonderful,"  I  answered.  "  I  don't  believe  you 
ever  read  through  any  book  you  were  not  obliged 
to,  unless  it  were  the  "Morte  d'  Arthur,"  or  some 
Canterbury  Tale.  But  have  you  indeed  read 
this  book  through  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  have,  dear  heart,  and  more  than 
once.  Shall  I  show  it  you  ?"  And  therewith  he 
drew  from  his  bosom  a  small,  well-worn  volume, 
and  put  it  in  my  hand.  Almost  mechanically  I 
opened  it,  and  the  first  words  I  read  were  these, 
which  I  had  so  often  heard  from  my  step-dame  : 
"  Sufficient  unto  the  time  is  the  evil  thereof." 

At  this  moment  ^we  were  interrupted  by  a 
call,  and  one  of  the  servants  came  to  bid  us  to 
supper. 

"  Richard,"  said  I,  "  will  you  lend  me  this 
book?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  taking  it  from  my  hands  : 
"  I  will  take  no  such  responsibility  ;  but  if  you 
would  read  it,  ask  your  step-dame  to  give  it  you. 
She  is  as  great  a  favorer  of  the  new  doctrine  as 
my  Lady  Denny  herself.     But,  Rosamond,  if  you 


2A2  Lady  Rosamond  $  Zitaftk 

mean  to  go  back  to  your  convent,  I  rede  you  let 
the  book  alone." 

"  And  why  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Because,  an  you  read  and  believe  it  you  will 
never  go  back  there,"  answered  D;ck ;  and  that 
was  all  I  could  get  out  of  him. 

Dick  is  changed,  but  not  as  Mistress  Bullen 
said.  He  is  far  graver,  and  more  manly  than  he 
used  to  be.  He  has  lost  most  of  his  old  blunder- 
wig  bashfulness,  and  seems  indeed  not  to  think  of 
himself  at  all.  The  very  expression  of  his  face 
is  changed,  yet  he  has  all  his  old  kind  ways,  and 
is  just  as  ready  to  do  service  to  gentle  and  simple. 

It  is  odd  he  never  so  much  as  noticed  the 
change  in  my  dress. 

I  am  vexed  when  I  think  of  the  coil  that  was 
made  about  poor  Dick's  simple  offering.  If  dear 
Mother  had  only  opened  it — but  she  will  know 
when  I  write  to  her. 

To-morrow  is  May-day,  and  is  like  to  be  fine. 
If  so  we  shall  go  down  as  usual,  and  see  the 
dances  on  the  green,  and  perhaps  join  in  them. 
My  Lord  and  Lady  have  promised  to  grace  us 
with  their  presence.  I  fear  she  will  think  our 
country  ways  but  rude  and  boisterous,  as  she  has 
lived  all  her  life  in  town  and  about  the  Court ; 
though  in  her  manners  she  is  as  modest  and 
simple  as  any  country  maid. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


Mat  ?2- 

HE  May  games  went  off  very  well.  We 
had  all  the  usual  sports — Robin  Hood 
and  Little  John,  Maid  Marian  and  all 
the  rest  of  them,  and  besides  a  Miracle 
play — the  first  ever  seen  in  these  parts,  and  for 
mine  own  part  I  should  hope  it  might  be  the  last. 
The  players,  it  seems,  were  at  Biddeford  May 
games,  and  hearing  that  we  were  to  have  unusual 
festivities  here,  they  sent  a  deputation  hither, 
praying  my  Lord  and  my  father  to  patronize 
them.  The  Prior  also  gave  them  his  good  word, 
so  my  Lord  consented  and  won  my  father  to  do 
the  same.  The  old  May  pole  having  been  shivered 
by  lightning  last  year,  my  Lord  gave  a  new 
one  from  his  own  woods,  a  fine,  stately  shaft, 
which  was  duly  bedizened  with  flowers  and 
ribbons,  and  drawn  to  its  place  on  the  morning 
of  the  games,  with  all  the  oxen  that  could  be 
mustered,  and  a  great  noise  of  horns,  hautbois 
and  fiddles.  We  walked  down  to  the  green  about 
ten  of  the  clock,  and  found  the  lads  and  maids 
dancing  about  the  pole,  and  more  than  the  usual 


214         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or% 

crowd  assembled.  There  was  an  Egyptian  wo- 
man telling  of  fortunes,  a  travelling  huckster  or 
two  with  ribbons,  toys  and  gingerbread,  and 
another  selling  of  books  and  ballads,  who  I  fear 
made  but  a  bad  speculationi  He  was  a  sober, 
decent-looking  man,  and  seeing  him  looking  our 
way,  my  mother  beckoned  him,  and  began  look- 
ing over  his  stock,  which  was  made  up  mostly 
of  tracts  and  primers,  with  some  ballads  and  penny 
prints  of  saints  and  virgins. 

"  And  have  you  no  other  wares  than  these  ?" 
asked  my  step-dame.  "  There  are  many  new 
books  going  now-a-days  ?" 

"  And  that  is  true,  madam,"  answered  the 
chapman,  (and  I  could  not  but  notice  how  well 
he  spoke,  respectfully,  but  with  no  fawning  ser- 
vility, such  as  chapmen  commonly  use.)  "  The 
present  time  is,  under  your  favor,  like  the  house- 
holder in  the  scriptures,  bringing  forth  out  of  his 
treasures  things  new  and  old.  Aye,  and  the  old 
have  been  so  long  forgot  in  these  parts  that  they 
are  the  newest  of  all." 

"  And  that  is  true !"  answered  my  mother. 
"Well,  this  is  but  a  public  place.  Come  you  to 
Corby  End  this  evening,  and  we  will  look  over 
your  wares,  and  give  you  a  night's  entertain- 
ment." 

The  man  gave  her  courteous  thanks  and  turned 
away.  Just  then  Harry  came  to  tell  us  that  the 
play  was  about  to  begin,  and  only  waited  our 
coming  to  the  seats  reserved  for  us. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       2t£ 

"  I  have  little  fancy  for  these  mummeries,"  said 
my  Lady  to  us,  as  we  took  the  stools  which  had 
been  set  for  our  accommodation  ;  "  but  yet  we 
must  not  mortify  the  poor  players.  I  trust  they 
will  confine  themselves  in  proper  bounds." 

"  Tis  the  Passion  of  our  Lord  they  are  about 
to  play,"  said  the  Prior  of  Stanton,  who  had  his 
seat  near  us.  "  No  one  can  object  to  that, 
surely." 

"With  submission,  reverend  Father,  such  a 
subject  seems  to  me  hardly  fitted  for  the  day  and 
the  scene,"  answered  my  Lady,  gently :  "  Be- 
sides, does  it  not  seem  to  you  to  savor  of  pre- 
sumption— to  say  no  more — that  a  poor  strolling 
player,  and  he  often  a  lewd  and  profane  person, 
as  but  too  many  of  them  are — should  take  upon 
himself  to  personate  our  suffering  Lord,  putting 
his  own  words  in  the  mouth  of  one  so  unspeakably 
august  and  venerable  ?" 

The  Prior  fidgetted  on  his  seat,  and  looked 
somewhat  uncomfortable  as  he  answered : 

"You  know,  my  Lady,  the  Church  hath  al- 
ways sanctioned  these  things,  considering  them 
to  be  of  the  nature  of  pictures  and  images,  which 
are  called  the  books  of  the  unlearned." 

"  But  why  not  expend  the  time  and  treasure 
which  these  things  cost,  in  teaching  the  unlearn- 
ed ?"  asked  my  mother. 

"  Nay,  Madam,  that  would  never  do,"  an- 
swered the  Prior.  "  What,  would  you  have^Jack 
and   Jill,   and   Hodge    and  Joan,    leaving    their 


2i6         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

ploughing  and  spinning  to  pore  over  books  t»f 
divinity,  and  discuss  questions  of  casuistry  ? 
What  then  would  become  of  the  work,  and  of 
the  respect  which  they  owe  to  their  betters  ?" 

The  poor  old  fat  priest  got  so  red  and  did  seem 
so  disturbed,  that  I  was  glad  my  mother  made 
him  no  reply,  save  a  smile.  Indeed,  she  had  no 
time  to  do  so,  for  the  play  began  directly. 

I  had  never  seen  such  an  one  before,  and  I 
must  say  I  was  shocked.  There  were  all  the 
holy  Apostles,  our  Lady  (represented  by  a  simper- 
ing boy  with  a  crack  in  his  voice)  Pontius  Pilate 
va  most  truculent  looking  personage),  the  two 
thieves,  and  worst  of  all,  our  Lord  himself,  besides 
devils  and  angels  in  plenty.  The  people  made 
their  remarks  freely  enough,  and  I  can't  say  they 
seemed  greatly  solemnized  or  edified.  The  part 
which  pleased  them  most  was  when  the  devils 
thrust  Judas  down  to  the  infernal  pit,  and  were 
then  kicked  after  him,  without  any  ceremony,  by 
the  angels,  who  afterward  ascended  to  heaven, 
one  at  a  time,  on  the  same  cloud  which  had  served 
our  Lord,  and  which  was  worked  in  plain  sight 
by  a  man  with  a  rope  and  a  winch. 

It  see^ms  to  me  almost  profane  to  write  these 
things  down,  and  yet  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
feel  so.  We  used  to  make  little  Chris  ts  of  wax  at 
the  convent,  and  paint  them  to  the  life,  and  no- 
body thought  any  harm  of  that.  And  there  were 
our  gethlehems,  which  practice  was  begun  by 
Saint  Francis  himself,  our  holy  founder,  and  at 


Ttie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       21 J 

the  first  of  which  happened  a  wonderful  miracle, 
for  during  the  ceremony,  the  saint  was  seen  caress- 
ing an  infant  of  celestial  beauty,  who  appeared  to 
the  astonishment  of  all  beholders.  The  straw  on 
which  this  apparition  happened  was  preserved 
with  great  devotion,  and  worked  many  miracu- 
lous cures.  We  had  some  of  it  among  our  relics, 
and  'twas  held  almost  as  sacred  as  the  glass  con- 
taining the  Holy  Virgin's  milk.  But  I  am 
forgetting  the  May  games. 

After  the  play  was  ended,  the  dancing  began 
anew.  Several  of  the  fathers  were  down  from  the 
convent,  as  usual,  but  methought  they  were  not 
very  cordially  received.  And  when  Father  Je- 
rome ventured  to  chuck  Jan  Lee's  new  wife  under 
the  chin,  with  what  I  must  needs  say  was  rather 
a  broad  jest,  Jan  gave  him  a  look  as  black  as  thun- 
der and  drew  his  bride  away.  I  too  had  an  encoun- 
ter which  did  not  please  me.  I  was  standing  by 
my  father,  and  leaning  on  his  arm,  when  the 
Prior  came  up  to  us  with  the  same  dark  priest  who 
had  been  in  the  church  on  Sunday,  and  presented 
him  to  my  father  as  Father  Barnabas  of  Glaston- 
bury.    Then  turning  to  me  : 

"What,  my  fair  Rosamond,  is  this  you  ?  I  did 
not  know  the  dove  in  her  gay  plumage  !" 

While  I  was  thinking  what  to  say  in  reply,  the 
other  priest  broke  in  : 

"  Methinks  neither  the  gay  plumes  nor  the 
place  are  very  well  suited  to  the  promised  bride 
of  Christ,  how  well  soever  they  may  beseem  fair 


2r8        Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

Rosamond !"  with  an  emphasis  on  the  name.  It 
was  now  my  father's  turn  to  look  black. 

"  My  daughter,  sir  priest,  is  no  nun  ;  and  being 
as  yet  under  her  father's  roof  and  rule,  she  dresses 
to  please  him,  like  a  dutiful  maiden,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  words  we  heard  last  Sunday  :  *  Honor 
thy  father  and  mother.' " 

"  Aye,  there  it  is,"  said  the  prior.  "  Now  may 
we  see  what  comes  of  these  innovations.  Soon 
every  man  will  be  ready  with  his  text  and  his 
commentary — according  to  the  boast  of  that  arch- 
fiend Tyndale,  which  I  heard  him  make  to  myself, 
that  he  would  so  order  matters  that  in  a  few  years 
every  ploughboy  should  know  more  of  Scripture 
than  I  did.     And  what  are  we  to  do  then  !" 

"  Lackaday !  I  don't  know,"  answered  Will 
Paxton,  my  Lord's  jester,  putting  in  his  word  as 
usual — "Tis  an  ill-ordered  house  where  the  man 
can  write,  though  the  master  can't  read.'* 

Whereat  the  priest  frowned,  and  my  father 
laughed  heartily,  and  gave  Will  a  silver  groat, 
bidding  him  go  buy  a  fairing  for  his  sweetheart. 
Then  saying  that  I  was  standing  too  long  and 
would  be  ill  again,  he  led  me  away,  and  we  pres- 
ently went  up  to  the  Court  to  spend  the  day  with 
my  Lady,  to  whom  I  had  promised  instruction  in 
the  art  of  knitting.  We  passed  a  very  quiet  and 
pleasant  day,  and  walking  home  together  in  the 
twilight,  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  I  suddenly  be- 
thought myself  of  Dick's  little  book,  and  asked 
my  mother,  saying : 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       219 

"Madam,  have  you  ever  seen  one  of  these 
same  Testaments  of  Master  Tyndale's  ?" 

"  Aye,  daughter,  that  have  I !  I  have  both 
seen  and  read  it !"  she  answered. 

"  And  do  you  think  'tis  really  the  true  Gos- 
pel ?"  I  asked  again,  remembering  what  Annie 
had  told  me  about  it. 

44 1  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Master  Ellenwood,  at 
my  request,  and  for  his  own  satisfaction,  has  been 
Comparing  it  with  the  Greek  and  Latin  text, 
and  says  'tis  marvellously  well  done." 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  love  to  read  it !"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

44  You  would  find  many  things  to  astonish  you, 
my  child,"  answered  my  mother.  "Yea,  to 
upset  all  your  former  notions,  and  mayhap  lead 
you  to  renounce  and,  contemn  many  things 
which  you  have  been  used  to  hold  most  sacred 
all  your  life  long." 

44  Dick  said  I  must  not  read  it  if  I  ever  meant  to 
go  back  to  the  convent,"  I  said.  "  But  mother — 
Madam,  I  would  say" — 

44Nay,  dearest  child,  call  me  ever  mother,  if 
you  will,"  said  she,  pressing  my  arm  kindly. 
44  Tis  verv  sweet  to  me  to  hear  the  name  fall  so 
naturally  from  your  lips.  But  what  would  you 
say,  dear  heart  ?" 

44 1  was  going  to  say,  that  this  difference  seems 
very  strange  and  sad  to  me,"  I  went  on.  44  If  the 
Gospels  are  right — and  the  true  Gospel  must  be 
right— -then  is  the  Church  wrong  !" 


220        Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  or, 

"Well,  what  then?"  she  asked.  "Your  rea- 
soning is  good,  but  what  then  ?" 

"  Why,  then  we  must  follow  the  Gospel,  as  it 
seems  to  me,"  I  answered.  "  But,  mother,  will 
you  let  me  have  this  Gospel  to  read  ?" 

"  Yes,  child  !  Since  you  ask  it,  I  can  do  no 
otherwise, "said  she,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  : 
"  I  dare  not  withhold  the  word  of  God  from  you — 
but  alas,  my  child,  have  you  considered  that  you 
may  be  taking  in  hand  the  torch  to  light  your 
own  funeral  pile,  withal  ?  Shall  I  give  you  that 
which  may  be  your  death  ?" 

"  Why  not,  if  it  shall  lead  me  to  eternal  life  ?" 
I  said.  "  Besides,  it  may  not  be  so  bad  as  you 
say.  Mistress  Bullen  favors  the  new  teachings, 
my  Lady  says — not  that  I  think  any  better  of 
them  for  that,  but  she  is  very  great  with  the 
King,  as  we  all  know." 

"I  build  not  at  all  on  Mrs.  Bullen's  favor," 
answered  my  Lady.  "  She  is  indeed  in  the  sun- 
shine of  his  Majesty's  countenance  even  now, 
but  how  long  will  she  stay  there,  think  you  ? 
She  is  beautiful  and  brilliant  and  fascinating,  if 
you  will — though  I  must  say  she  never  pleased 
me — but  she  hath  neither  principle  nor  prudence 
to  guide  her  in  her  dangerous  path.  Ah,  child, 
be  thankful  that  you  have  grown  up  at  home, 
and  not  in  a  Court." 

"  But  as  to  this  book  !"  I  ventured  to  say. 

"  As  to  this  book,  you  shall  have  it,  if  your 
father  be  willing  to  let  you  run  the  risk.     But 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       221 

count  the  cost,  my  child,  and  pray  for  guidance 
to  Him  who  has  promised  to  give  wisdom  to 
them  that  ask.  When  you  have  done  so,  come 
to  me  in  my  closet,  and  I  will  put  into  yoar 
hands  the  word  of  God." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


June  i, 
ICK  was  right !     I  shall  never  go  back 

to  the  convent. 

The  next  day  after  the  May  games, 

my  mother,  according  to  her  promise, 
put  into  my  hand  Master  Tyndale's  New  Testa- 
ment, and  with  it  a  copy  of  the  same  in  Latin — 
the  Vulgate,  as  'tis  called — bidding  me  compare 
as  I  read.  Since  then  every  leisure  moment  has 
been  spent  in  reading  and  studying  and  compar- 
ing, and  oh,  in  what  a  new  world  of  thought  and 
feeling  and  experience  do  I  find  myself !  What 
clouds  have  cleared  away  from  my  mind  !  I  have 
spent  many  hours  closeted  with  my  mother,  and 
while  our  fingers  worked  at  Harry's  outfit,  our 
minds  were  busy  with  these  great  themes.  No, 
I  never  can  go  back,  never  can  take  the  veil  !  I 
find  in  the  word  of  God  no  warrant  for  any  such 
life.  How  astonished  I  was  to  find  that  St. 
Peter  and  St.  James  and  other  of  the  Apostles 
had  been  married — that  our  Lady  herself  seems 
to  have  lived  at  home  with  her  husband  like  any 
other  woman— and   that  she  is  nowhere   repre- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       223 

sented  as  bearing  any  rule,  or  being  of  more 
authority  in  the  Church  than  any  other  woman. 
Indeed,  our  Lord  Himself  said  that  any  one  who 
had  His  word  and  kept  it,  was  as  near  to  Him  as 
His  mother — "  the  same  is  my  brother,  and  sister, 
and  mother"— are  His  words.  And  then  this 
very  Gospel,  which  the  priests  keep  so  jealously 
from  us,  was  at  the  first  preached  to  the  common 
folk  in  those  parts — they  followed  Him  in  crowds 
to  hear  His  words,  and  indeed  very  few  of  the 
better  or  more  religious  class  followed  Him  at 
all.  But  I  cannot  write  down  all  my  thoughts — 
they  are  too  new  and  too  precious.  I  must  think 
them  over. 

My  mother  tells  me  that  the  chapman  whom  we 
saw  at  the  May  games,  and  who  stayed  more  than 
one  night  here  and  at  the  Court,  was  a  member 
of  the  fraternity  known  among  themselves  as  the 
Christian  Brothers — a  company  of  merchants  and 
men  of  substance  who  devote  their  time,  their 
means,  yea  and  their  lives  also  to  spreading  the 
word  of  God  in  this  land.  This  same  Master 
Bradbury's  stock  in  trade  consisted  chiefly  of 
Testaments,  or  fragments  of  the  same,  which  he 
disseminated  wherever  he  found  opportunity. 

My  mother,  I  can  see,  builds  nothing  at  all  on 
his  Majesty's  favor  for  the  new  religion.  She 
says  he  may  quarrel  with  the  Pope  about  this 
matter  of  the  divorce,  but  if  so,  'twill  be  but  to 
make  himself  Pope  instead.  He  is  already 
highly  enraged  at  Tyndale,  because  of  his  letter 


224  Lady  Rosamond 's  Book. 

against  the  divorce,  and  hath  forbidden  the  cir- 
culation of  his  books  ;  but,  said  my  mother,  he 
might  as  well  forbid  the  wind  to  blow. 

Tis  even  as  Master  Ellenwood  said — like 
making  a  breach  in  the  dykes  and  forbidding  the 
sea  to  run  through. 

But  I  can't  help  hoping  more  than  my  mother 
does — perhaps  because  I  am  younger.  Anyhow 
I  am  sure  I  shall  never  be  sorry  that  I  have  come 
to  know  the  true  Gospel.  It  has  cleared  away 
many  doubts  and  fears  and  cares  from  my  mind. 
All  anxiety  for  my  mother's  soul,  for  one  thing  ; 
because,  though  she  believed  as  she  was  taught, 
and  never  saw  this  book,  yet  I  am  sure  she 
trusted  in  God  for  her  salvation,  and  served  Him 
according  to  the  light  that  she  had.  As  for  my 
dear  Amice,  I  feel  sure  that  she  has  obtained  the 
object  of  her  old  ambition,  though  in  a  far  differ- 
ent way  from  that  she  proposed  for  herself,  and 
is  now  indeed  a  saint — a  glorified  saint,  to  go  no 
more  out  from  His  presence  forever,  in  whom  she 
trusted.  Oh,  that  dear  Mother  Gertrude  could 
have  this  comfort  about  one  whom  she  mourns 
as  eternally  condemned  to  perdition  !  I  cannot 
give  it  her — I  can  only  pray  for  her  and— what  a 
word  have  I  here  written  !  Only  pray  for  her, 
forsooth ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


HAVE  had  an  adventure  which  hath 
bred  serious  consequences  in  the  house- 
hold. 

The  night  before  last  was  very  dark 
and  sultry,  with  thick,  low  hanging  clouds,  and  a 
feeling  of  thunder  in  the  air.  The  sea  was  call- 
ing loudly,  and  Dobby's  Pool  roaring  in  that 
hollow,  boding  tone,  which  always  foretells  a 
storm.  I  had  had  a  headache,  and  some  threat- 
enings  of  a  chill,  a  visitation  to  which  I  am  now 
and  then  subject,  and  my  mother  gave  me  a  dose 
of  her  favorite  spicy  cordial,  and  sent  me  early  tu 
bed. 

Thunder  always  makes  me  drowsy,  and  I  was 
soon  asleep.  It  must  have  been  near  midnight 
when  I  waked.  The  waning  moon  had  risen,  and 
shone  full  into  the  chamber  and  on  the  door  of 
my  mother's  oratory.  To  my  utter  amazement 
it  opened  slowly,  and  a  figure  issued  therefrom, 
dressed  in  my  mother's  garments,  and  bearing  in 
one  hand  a  dim  light,  in  the  other  my  old  con- 
vent dress,  which  it  seemed  to  hold  up  reproach- 


226  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

fully  before  my  eyes,  while  it  uttered  in  a  hollow 
whisper  these  words  : 

11  Wretched,  apostate  child!  Will  you  doom 
your  own  soul  and  your  mother's  to  the  flames  of 
hell  forever  ?" 

I  was  scared  at  first,  T  confess  —  but  the 
moment  the  apparition  spoke  my  courage  re- 
turned, or  something  which  served  me  instead. 
I  sprang  from  the  bed,  and  snatching  the  bed 
staff  which  stood  near,  I  rushed  at  the  would-be 
ghost,  which  retreated  the  way  it  had  come  with 
all  haste,  but  not  before  I  had  dealt  it  one  sound 
blow,  Which  fell  plainly  on  corporal  substance. 
I  followed  the  thing  into  the  oratory,  but  it  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  By  this  time  I  was  as  cool 
as  possible.  I  knew  there  was  but  one  place  of 
concealment,  namely  a  small  closet  which  had  no 
outlet,  and  finding  the  key  in  the  oratory  door, 
I  quietly  locked  it  on  the  outside,  put  the  key 
away,  and  returned  to  bed. 

The  start  and  exertion  brought  on  my  shiver- 
ing fit,  and  I  was  just  beginning  to  get  over  it  a 
little,  when  I  heard  a  voice  I  well  knew,  but 
humble  and  quavering  enough. 

"  Mrs  Rosamond — Oh,  Mistress  Rosamond  "— 
then  as  I  did  not  answer — "  Oh,  Mistress  Rosa- 
mond, do  let  me  out !  There  is  a  storm  coming 
on,  and  I  dare  not  stay  here." 
*  u  Who  are  you  ?"  I  asked,  trying  to  speak  so- 
berly, though  I  was  choked  with  laughter. 

"  I  am  nobody  but  Prudence — Prudence,  your 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       22J 

poor  boAver-woman.  Oh,  Mistress  Rosamond,  do 
let  me  out,  and  I  will  thank  you  all  my  days !" 

"I  do  not  believe  you!"  I  said.  "Prudence 
would  never  play  such  a  wicked,  malicious  trick, 
and  one  too  so  profane  and  impious.  You  are 
some  impudent  stroller  and  thief — an  Egyptian, 
too,  for  aught  I  know.  You  shall  stay  till  morn- 
ing, and  see  what  measure  my  Lord  and  my 
father  will  deal  out  to  you." 

She  still  pleaded  for  mercy,  and  in  tones  of 
such  real  and  abject  terror,  that  I  began  to  fear 
she  might  die  of  fright,  and  rose  to  release  her  ; 
but  just  as  I  was  striking  a  light,  for  the  clouds 
had  risen  once  more,  and  it  was  very  dark,  my 
step-mother  entered  the  room  with  a  candle  in 
her  hand. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Rosamond — and  who  were  you 
talking  with  ?"  said  she,  looking  around,  and  nat- 
urally surprised  to  see  nobody.  "  I  am  sure  I 
beard  you  talking." 

"  You  did,  Madam  !"  I  answered.  %i  A  ghost 
appeared  to  me  and  I  chased  it  with  the  bed  staff 
into  the  closet  yonder  and  locked  it  up,  and  now 
it  is  scared  and  wants  to  get  out." 

Madam  looked  as  if  she  thought  my  wits  were 
wandering,  and  as  well  as  I  could  for  laughing,  1 
told  her  the  tale.  Then  suddenly  the  wicked- 
ness and  unkindness  of  the  trick  flashed  on  me, 
and  I  fell  to  crying  as  hard  as  I  had  laughed. 
Madam  soothed  and  kissed  me,  and  making  me 
lie  down,  she  said  she  would  fetch  me  some  drops 


2?8  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

from  her  room  —  "and  then  I  will  call  your 
father,  and  we  will  unearth  this  ghost  of  ours." 

When  she  was  gone,  Prudence  renewed  her 
pleadings.  4<  Oh,  Mistress  Rosamond,  do  let  me 
out.     My  master  will  kill  me  !" 

"  I  can't,"  said  I.  "  Madam  has  taken  the  key 
(as  indeed  she  had,  thinking,  I  dare  say,  that  I 
should  relent).  "Whoever  you  are,  you  must 
bake  as  you  have  brewed.  I  fear  the  bread  will 
not  be  to  your  taste." 

My  father  and  mother  entered  even  as  I  spoke, 
and  going  at  once  to  the  door,  my  father  unlocked 
and  threw  it  open.  There  stood  Mistress  Pru- 
dence, arrayed  as  I  had  seen  her,  for  in  the  dark- 
ness she  had  not  been  able  to  find  her  own  gown, 
and  looking  as  foolish  and  venomous  as  a  fox 
caught  in  a  poultry  yard. 

I  pass  over  the  scene  that  followed — my  father's 
stern  wrath,  which  my  mother  vainly  strove  to 
mitigate,  and  Prue's  tears  and  exclamations  that 
she  meant  no  harm,  and  it  was  only  a  joke,  and 
so  on. 

"  It  is  a  joke  that  shall  cost  you  dear,"  said  my 
father,  grimly.  "  You  shall  spend  the  night  in 
the  prison  you  have  chosen,  and  in  the  morning 
you  leave  this  house  forever.  But  for  her  sake 
whose  memory  you  have  outraged,  the  rising  sun 
should  see  you  set  in  the  stocks  on  the  village 
green  as  a  thief  and  an  impudent  witch." 

"I  am  no  thief !"  sobbed  Prudence.  "I  never 
took  so  much  as  a  hair." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       22(j 

"  Where  got  you  the  clothes  you  wear — and 
that  rosary  by  your  side — wretch  that  you  are  !" 
interrupted  my  father,  his  wrath  rising  as  he  re- 
cognized my  mother's  beads  and  cross,  which  he 
had  always  kept  on  his  own  table.  "  Here,  you 
men  and  women — for  by  this  time  half  the  house- 
hold were  gathered  at  the  door — "come  in  and 
see  this  woman,  who  has  dared  to  dress  up  in  her 
sainted  lady's  clothes  to  scare  my  daughter. 
Look  at  her  well  !  for  by  this  hand  you  will  not 
see  her  soon  again  !" 

Many  and  various  were  the  remarks  and  com- 
ments of  pity  for  me  and  anger  and  contempt 
against  Prue,  who  is  no  favorite. 

"  If  it  had  been  any  common  young  lady,  and 
so  delicate  in  health  as  Mistress  Rosamond  too — 
it  might  have  scared  her  to  death  !"  said  one. 

"  I  wonder  Mrs.  Prue  didn't  see  a  ghost  in 
good  earnest,"  said  another.  "  I  should  have  ex- 
pected an  evil  spirit  to  come  after  me  if  I  had 
played  such  a  trick." 

"  There  is  no  evil  spirit  worse  than  the  spirit 
of  lying  and  cruelty — remember  that,  maids  !"  said 
Madam,  solemnly.  "  Now  let  all  go  to  bed,  say 
your  paternosters,  and  let  the  house  be  quiet." 

In  the  morning  Prue  was  released  from  her 
durance  and  allowed  to  go  free  whither  she  would. 
So  much  grace  did  my  mother  and  I  obtain  for 
her,  but  farther  than  that  my  father  was  adamant. 
He  declared  in  answer  to  a  hint  of  mine  that  she 
had  had  a  lesson,  and  might  be  allowed  to  re- 


2 jo        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  of, 

main — that  nothing  should  tempt  him  to  let  her 
stay  under  the  roof  another  day.  And  here  in- 
deed my  step-dame  took  part  against  me,  and  on 
consideration,  I  believe  they  are  both  right — yet 
I  can't  but  feel  very  sorry  for  Prue.  She  came  to 
my  room  to  bid  me  farewell,  and  I  gave  her  some 
money.  My  step-dame  did  the  same,  though  I 
believe  there  was  little  need  of  it,  for  I  know 
she  hath  saved  nearly  all  her  earnings. 

"  Oh,  Mistress  Rosamond  !"  was  all  she  could 
say  at  first,  for  she  was  really  weeping — and 
then — "'Twas  all  for  your  good — to  save  your 
precious  soul  and  your  mother's." 

"  Souls  are  not  to  be  saved  by  lies,  Prue  F'says 
I.  "Remember  that  there  is  no  sin  that  God 
hates  more  than  this  of  lying." 

"  Nay,  'tis  but  a  venial  sin,"  she  answered,  ex- 
cusing herself;  "  'tis  not  one  of  the  seven  deadly 
sins  !" 

"  Tis  a  sin  most  expressly  forbidden  in  the 
word  of  God,"  I  told  her,  "  as  you  might  have 
known  if  you  had  listened  to  the  commandments 
which  have  been  read  in  the  church  lately." 

"  Not  I !"  said  she,  tartly  :  "lam  for  no  such 
new-fangled  ways.  But  oh,  Mistress  Rosamond,  I 
meant  not  to  harm  you — I  did  not,  indeed.  'Twas 
all  for  your  good,  and  to  scare  you  into  your  duty. 
Oh,  Mistress  Rosamond,  my  dear  heart,  do  not 
you  be  persuaded  into  breaking  your  convent 
vows  !  Your  mother,  your  blessed  mother,  gave 
you  to  the  Church  the  very  hour  you  were  born, 


The  Stantvn- Corbet  Chronicles .       2jl 

and  before.  You  will  pull  down  destruction  on 
your  head,  if  you  draw  back — Father  Barnabas 
himself  says  the  same.  This  new  lady  is  no  bet- 
ter than  a  heretic,  and  I  have  it  from  a  sure  hand 
that  in  London  she  was  well  known  as  such,  and 
my  mistress  is  just  the  same.  Oh,  that  ever  I 
should  have  lived  to  see  the  day  !  But,  my  dear 
Mistress  Rosamond,  for  your  own  soul  and  body's 
sake,  don't  you  break  your  vows  and  be  a  cast- 
away !" 

"  Now  you  are  meddling  with  matters  far  too 
high  for  you,  Prudence  !"  said  I.  "  As  for  my 
vows,  there  can  be  none  broken  where  there  were 
none  made,  and  for  the  rest,  beware  my  Lord's 
anger  !  If  he  should  hear  that  you  had  but  breathed 
on  the  fair  fame  of  his  wife,  it  were  better  you 
had  never  been  born  !" 

She  winced  a  little  at  this,  and  took  refuge  in 
tears  and  exclamations  that  ever  she  had  lived 
to  see  the  day  :  and  so  took  her  leave,  meaning, 
as  she  says,  to  go  to  her  sisters  at  Bristol.  Yet 
I  hear  she  hath  not  gone,  but  is  staying  with 
some  one  here  in  the  village,  making  a  great  show 
of  devotion,  and  specially  of  saying  her  prayers 
at  my  mother's  grave.  I  wish  she  would  go  away, 
I  know  not  why,  but  I  do  dread  some  mischief 
from  her  tongue. 

What  she  said  about  lying  has  set  me  to  look- 
ing up  all  the  passages  in  Scripture  relating  to 
the  same.  I  find  plenty  of  them  condemning  the 
sin  in  the  strongest  terms,  as  even  that  all  liars 


23* 


Lady  Rosamond 's  Book. 


shall  have  their  part  in  the  lake  that  burneth  with 
fire  and  brimstone,  which  is  the  second  death  ; 
and  yet  it  is  true,  as  she  said,  that  the  Church 
counts  it  but  a  venial  sin.  I  cannot  understand 
it. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


June  20. 

HAVE  been  called  on  to  make  a  very 
solemn  and  awful  decision — and  I  have 
made  it.  Some  days  ago  my  father  sent 
for  me  into  his  room,  and  said  to 
me  : 

"  Rosamond,  the  time  i.ks  come  for  you  to  de- 
cide upon  your  way  of  life.  If  you  are  going  back 
to  the  convent  it  is  time  and  more  that  you  were 
gone.  You  know  what  your  mother's  and  my 
wishes  once  were  on  the  subject.  You  have  seen 
what  convent  life  is,  and  now  you  must  decide 
what  you  will  do — whether  you  will  become  a 
nun,  or  live  at  home." 

I  was  struck  dumb  for  a  few  minutes.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  to  be  called  upon 
to  decide  the  matter.  I  had  somehow  supposed 
that  it  would  be  settled  for  me. 

"  So  far  as  we  are  concerned,"  continued  my 
father,  after  a  little  silence,  "  my  wife  and  I  would 
gladly  keep  you  at  home.  You  have  ever  shown 
yourself  a  dutiful  and  good  child  to  us,  as  well  as 
to — her  that  is  gone.     But  we  put  no  force  upon 


2$4        Lady  Rosxmond's  Book;  Of, 

your  inclinations,  either  way.  You  must  decide 
for  yourself." 

"But  not  this  minute,  or  this  hour,  dear  heart/' 
said  madam,  who  had  hitherto  been  silent.  "  Take 
time,  pray,  ask  counsel  of  God  and  thine  own 
heart,  and  then  decide.  Be  sure  that  we  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  keep  you  with  us  as  long  as  we 
can." 

"  Only  this  much  I  must  say,  Rosamond,"  added 
my  father,  "  I  do  believe  if  we  could  know  thy 
mother's  mind  now,  she  would  bid  thee  remain  at 
home.  But  go  now  and  do  as  madam  hath  said 
— pray — read  the  Gospel,  and  then  decide.  Bless 
thee,  my  dear  one  ;  and  truly  I  believe  thou  wilt 
be  blessed,  for  better  maid  never  lived." 

I  cannot  but  write  these  words,  they  are  so 
precious,  coming  from  my  father,  who  seldom  puts 
his  deeper  feelings  into  words.  I  rose  from  my 
knees  and  went  to  mine  own  chamber,  to  the 
oratory  where  my  mother  spent  so  much  time  in 
prayer,  and  there  I  remained  many  hours — Madam, 
with  her  usual  kind  care,  giving  orders  that  I 
should  not  be  disturbed. 

For  a  while  my  mind  was  so  tossed  and  tum- 
bled that  I  could  see  nothing.  I  could  not  even 
pray,  and  at  last  took  refuge  in  repeating  the 
Psalms,  specially  the  hundred  and  nineteenth, 
which  seemed  full  of  petitions  suitable  to  my 
state.  By  degrees  my  spirit  grew  calmer,  and 
I  was  able  to  pour  out  my  whole  heart.  I  do  not 
now  pray  to  the  Saints  or  to  our  Lady,  because  I 


Tlie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       235 

can  hod  in  the  whole  of  Scripture  no  warrant  for 
doing  so,  but  every  encouragement  to  come  at 
once  to  my  Heavenly  Father,  through  the  merits 
and  intercession  of  His  Son. 

Toward  evening  my  mother  came,  bringing 
^ith  her  own  hands  a  simple  and  dainty  little 
repast,  decked  with  fresh  flowers,  as  her  manner 
is.  (She  does  love  flowers  above  any  woman  I 
ever  saw,  and  has  brought  from  London  and  the 
East  country  many  new  kinds  of  roots  and  seeds, 
such  as  have  never  been  seen  in  these  parts.)  She 
would  have  me  eat  and  drink  to  keep  up  my 
strength  ;  and  though  I  felt  no  great  inclination 
thereto,  it  behooved  me  to  please  her,  when  she 
had  taken  so  much  pains  for  me. 

"And  now,  my  dear  one,  let  me  give  thee  a 
little  counsel !"  said  she.  "  Do  not  you  remain 
shut  up  here,  but  go  out  and  walk  in  the  fresh 
cool  evening,  before  the  sun  goes  down,  and  then 
committing  thyself  and  all  thy  cares  to  thy 
Heavenly  Father,  lie  down  to  rest  in  peace.  Be 
sure  He  will  guide  thee  to  a  wise  decision." 

I  had  purposed  to  watch  all  night  in  the  ora- 
tory, I  told  her.     She  smiled. 

"And  will  that  clear  your  head,  think  you, 
sweetheart  ?  Or  will  a  fit  of  ague,  such  as  any 
fatigue  is  sure  to  bring  upon  you,  assist  you  in 
deciding  wisely?  See  here  what  the  Psalmist 
says !" 

And  taking  up  my  Latin  Psalter,  she  read  from 
the  hundred  and  twenty-seventh  Psalm  ;  "  It.  is 


2j6        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

but  lost  labor  that  ye  haste  to  rise  up  early,  and 
so  late  take  rest— for  so  He  giveth  his  beloved 
sleep !" 

I  saw  that  she  was  right.  Certainly  the  ague 
does  not  clear  one's  head,  and  I  am  apt  to  have  a 
return  of  it  on  any  unusual  fatigue.  So  I  kissed 
her  good-night,  said  my  prayers  once  more,  and 
went  to  bed.  I  was  restless  the  first  of  the  night, 
but  toward  morning  I  fell  asleep  and  had  a  most 
sweet  dream.  Methought  I  stood  at  the  gate  of 
a  most  lovely  and  well-ordered  garden,  full  of 
flowers,  surpassing  all  I  had  ever  seen  for  beauty 
and  sweetness,  and  bathed  in  a  light  such  as  I 
never  saw  in  this  world  of  ours.  Therein  I  could 
see  many  spirits,  walking,  talking  and  singing, 
clothed  all  in  white,  some  of  them  with  crowns 
of  radiant  stars.  I  looked  eagerly  for  some  one 
I  knew,  and  saw  Sister  Bridget  among  the 
brightest,  and  then  Amice;  but  they  did  not  see 
me  nor  could  I  attract  their  notice.  At  last  my 
mother  came  toward  me,  dressed  and  crowned 
like  the  rest,  with  her  hands  filled  with  roses. 
Her  face  was  like  herself,  but  more  full  of  peace 
than  I  had  ever  seen  it  in  this  life,  when  it  ever 
wore  a  shade  of  care. 

"  Dear  mother,"  said  I,  "  will  you  tell  me  what 
I  shall  do  ?" 

"  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother  !"  said  she, 
in  her  old  voice  of  gentle  command. 

"  But,  mother,  you  did  give  me  to  the  cloister  I" 
I  said,  trembling,  I  knew  not  why. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       2JJ 

"I  gave  you  to  God  !"  said  she,  and  smiled 
jpon  me. 

"  And  is  not  this  the  same  ?"  I  ask-d. 

Her  answer  was,  "  They  have  made  the  word 
of  God  of  none  effect,  through  their  tradition." 

"  Can  I  not  come  in  to  you,  deamst  mother  ?" 
I  asked,  feeling  an  inexpressible  longing  to  enter 
that  fair  Paradise. 

"Not  yet.  Thy  place  is  prepared,  but  thou 
hast  yet  much  work  to  do.  See  here  are  roses 
for  thy  bridal  crown.  Go  home  to  thy  hou^  ^nd 
wait  thy  Lord's  time." 

She  held  out  the  flowers  to  me,  as  she  spoke  ; 
a  most  wonderful  sweetness  filled  the  air,  and 
seemed  to  steal  into  my  very  soul,  bringing  I 
know  not  what  of  calm  and  quietness.  Then  I 
awoke,  and  behold,  it  was  but  a  dream  ;  yet  was 
it  wonderful  clear  and  real  to  me,  and  I  seem 
as  if  I  had  indeed  seen  my  mother.  I  bad  gone 
to  sleep  all  tossed  and  undecided ;  but  lying 
awake  in  the  clear  early  dawn,  all  seemed  to  be 
made  plain  to  me.  How  could  I  return  to  the 
convent,  where  half  our  duties  consisted  in  pray- 
ers offered  to  the  saints  and  our  Lady — in  dress- 
ing up  images  and  the  like  ?  What  should  I  do 
there  ?  Either  I  must  live  a  life  wholly  false  and 
hypocritical,  or  I  must  expose  myself  to  I  know 
not  what,  of  persecution,  and  perhaps  a  fearful 
death.  And  here  came  to  my  mind  the  niches  I 
had  seen,  bricked  up  in  the  chapel  vauit,  and  the 
nameless  neglected  graves  in  that  corner     1  can't 


2J$        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

think  it  is  our  Lord's  will  that  we  should  seek 
the  crown  of  martyrdom,  though  many  I  know 
have  done  so  ;  for  He  expressly  bade  his  disciples, 
when  they  were  persecuted  in  one  city,  to  flee 
to  another.  No,  I  can  never  go  back !  My 
mind  is  made  up,  and  I  have  told  my  father,  who 
received  my  decision  with  joy.  I  am  no  more 
Rosamond  the  postulant,  but  plain  Rosamond 
Corbet.  My  only  trouble  is  for  dear  Mother 
Superior,  who  I  know  will  grieve  over  me  as  a 
lost  soul.  Oh,  that  she  also  might  come  to  see 
the  light! 

I  have  announced  my  decision  to  my  father  and 
mother,  and  I  see  they  are  both  pleased.  In  re- 
counting my  motives,  I  was  led  to  tell  them  what 
had  happened  in  respect  to  Amice,  and  how  that 
I  had  been  secluded  so  long.  I  saw  them  ex- 
change glances. 

"  So  that  was  the  beginning  of  your  fever  !" 
said  my  father,  striking  his  hand  on  the  table. 
"  Had  I  known  you  were  so  mewed  up,  I  would 
have  had  their  crows'  nest  down  about  their  ears." 

I  assured  him  earnestly,  that  I  had  not  been 
ill-treated,  but  quite  the  contrary  ;  adding  that  I 
did  not  think  Mother  Superior  had  any  choice 
in  the  matter. 

"  There  is  the  mischief !"  said  my  father.  "  No- 
body is  personally  responsible.  Every  one  is  a 
puppet  whose  strings  are  pulled  by  some  other 
puppet,  and  his  again  by  some  one  else.  Tis  an 
utter  and  miserable  slayerv  frgm  the  beginning  to 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       239 

the  end,  and  the  superiors  are   perhaps  as   much 
to  be  pitied  as  any  one." 

"  I  cannot  but  feel  that  our  Rosamond  hath 
had  a  great  escape,"  said  Madam. 

"  Do  you  think  that  there  is  any  truth  in  what 
we  have  heard,  of  nuns  that  have  been  built  up 
alive  in  their  tombs  ?"  I  asked,  remembering  those 
grisly  niches  I  had  seen  in  the  chapel  vault. 

"  I  cannot  say  for  certain,  but  I  have  little 
doubt  of  it  ;  and  indeed  'tis  only  very  lately  that 
the  thing  has  ever  been  denied,"  answered  my 
father.  I  know  that  in  the  Low  Countries  it  has 
been  a  common  punishment  for  heresy.  Old  Will 
Lee  saw  a  woman  buried  alive,  and  said  she 
sung  joyfully  till  the  earth  stopped  her  breath  ; 
and  I  know  that  in  Spain  and  Italy,  far  worse 
things  have  been  done  by  the  Inquisition.  Tis 
not  easy  to  get  at  the  truth  about  what  goes  on 
in  convent  walls.  A  nun  has  no  refuge  and  no 
help.  She  is  away  from  her  own  family,  who  can 
only  see  her  now  and  then.  By  and  by  they  are 
told  that  she  is  dead,  but  who  knows  how  and 
where  she  died  ?  They  might  have  told  us  when 
we  came  to  see  you,  that  you  had  died  weeks  be- 
fore, of  the  sickness,  and  we  should  have  taken 
their  word  for  it,  and  all  the  time  you  might  have 
been  shut  up  in  some  prison." 

"  I  can't  think  any  such  thing  ever  happened 
at  our  house,"  I  said.  "  Dear  Mother  Superior  is 
too  kind  and  generous.  Alas  !  I  fear  her  heart 
will  be  sorelv  woun<Je<}>" 


240  Lady  Rosamond 's  Book. 

"  I  fear  so,"  answered  my  mother,  sighing,  u  and 
also  many  another.  Tis  a  part  of  the  cross 
that  these  days  of  shaking  and  separation  lay 
upon  us,  that  we  must  ofttimes  seem  to  desert 
those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  us.  It  is  a 
woeful  necessity." 

And  here  the  conversation  ended.  My  father 
is  to  send  letters  to  Mother  Superior,  to  acquaint 
her  with  the  matter,  and  I  have  also  writtea 
My  heart  is  sore  grieved,  but  what  can  I  do  ? 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


June  jo. 
ASTER  HAWKINS,  Harry's  captain, 
hath  been  to  see  us.  He's  a  rough  sea 
dog,  as  my  father  says,  but  yet  kind  and 
good,  as  it  seems  to  me,  and  with  a 
clear,  honest  face  that  I  felt  disposed  to  trust. 
Harry  took  to  him  greatly,  and  is  more  than 
ever  confirmed  in  his  resolution  of  sailing.  Master 
Hawkins  says  Harry  is  like  a  young  bear,  with  all 
his  troubles  to  come  ;  but  he  adds  very  sensibly 
that  troubles  come  everywhere,  and  reminded 
my  mother  of  her  young  cousin  whose  father 
would  not  let  him  go  to  sea  because  he  was  the 
only  son,  and  who  was  drowned  in  a  pond  in  his 
father's  orchard.  The  ships  do  not  sail  till  the 
last  of  August,  so  we  shall  have  Harry  for  two 
good  months  yet. 

Something  happened  this  morning  which  has 
vexed  me  more  than  I  believe  it  is  worth.  I  was 
down  at  Freshwater,  to  carry  some  baby  clothes 
and  a  bottle  of  sack  to  Meg  Yeo,  who  is  not 
getting  up  well  from  her  lying-in.  I  noticed  that 
two  or  three  people  stared  at  me  curiously,  and 


242  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

methought  there  was  something  odd  in  Meg's 
own  manner,  which,  however,  melted  away  under 
the  influence  of  the  baby  linen.  While  I  was 
there,  Dame  Lee,  Meg's  mother,  came  in. 

"So,  Mistress  Rosamond,  you  are  looking  fine 
and  stout  again,"  said  she,  and  then  to  her 
daughter:  "Did  I  not  tell  you,  Meg,  they  were 
but  idle  tales  yonder  woman  told  ?  Does  our 
young  lady  look  like  one  haunted  by  spectres,  or 
hunted  by  a  cruel  step-dame  ?" 

Her  words  were  spoken  aside,  but  not  so  low 
as  that  I  did  not  hear  them. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dame  ?"  said  I.  "  Why 
should  I  look  otherwise  than  well,  or  like  one 
haunted  by  spectres?" 

"  For  no  reason  that  I  know,  Mistress,"  an- 
swered the  old  woman  :  "  only  fools  will  tell 
tales  and  other  fools  believe  them.  Nay,  Meg, 
thou  need  not  be  making  signs  to  me.  Tis  right 
Mistress  Rosamond  should  know." 

"  Know  what  ?"  I  asked.  "  You  are  all  as 
mysterious  as  a  miracle  play  this  morning." 

"There  is  no  great  mystery  in  the  case,"  said 
Dame  Lee.  "  The  whole  matter  is  this.  The 
woman  Patience  Hollins,  whom  Madam  Corbet 
sent  away,  has  been  telling  everywhere  that  your 
step-dame  obliged  you  to  leave  off  your  convent 
dress,  and  break  your  vows,  that  she  might  wed 
you  to  a  needy  kinsman  of  her  own,  and  also  that 
the  very  night  the  change  was  made  your  hon- 
pre<J  rnother's  spirit  appeared  to  you,  all  surround- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronides.       24.$ 

ed  with  flames  and  burning  sulphur,  and  reproached 
you  with  your  disobedience,  and  declared  that  it 
had  taken  away  her  last  hope  of  salvation.  Pa- 
tience says  she  saw  herself  the  boards  where  the 
spirit  had  stood,  and  they  were  all  burned  black 
— and  that  she  saw  the  ghost  also  at  a  distance, 
and  smelled  the  sulphur." 

"  She  saw  the  ghost  as  near  as  any  one,"  said 
I,  and  with  that  I  told  them  the  tale  as  it  was. 

14  Lo,  did  I  not  tell  you  as  much !"  said  the 
dame,  turning  to  her  daughter  :  "  The  wicked 
wretch  !  She  deserves  to  be  hung  !  But  is  it 
true,  Mistress  Rosamond,  that  you  are  not  going 
to  be  a  nun,  after  all  ?" 

"  Tis  quite  true,"  said  I.  "  You  know  my 
brother  is  going  to  sea,  and  my  father  and  mother 
naturally  want  me  at  home,  and  there  are  other 
reasons.  But  there  was  neither  force  nor  per- 
suasion in  the  case.  It  was  left  to  myself  to 
decide,  and  I  have,  as  I  believe,  decided  rightly." 

"  And  I  am  glad  on't  with  all  my  heart !"  said 
Dame  Lee,  heartily.  "  I  am  no  believer  in  shutting 
up  young  maids  in  convent  walls.  They  may  do 
for  those  who  have  no  other  home.  But  what 
can- Patience  mean  by  telling  such  tales  ?" 

"She  means  to  hide  her  own  disgrace  and  dis- 
missal, no  doubt,"  said  I.  "She  is  a  wicked 
woman,  and  I  dare  say  will  work  me  all  the  harm 
she  can.  I  suppose  the  whole  village  is  ringing 
with  this  absurd  tale." 

"  I  shall  tell  the  truth  about  it  wherever  I  go, 


2/f4  Lady  Rosamond's  Book, 

you  may  be  sure,"  said  Dame  Lee.  "  Mrs.  Pa- 
tience is  not  now  my  Lady's  bower-woman,  that 
I  should  dread  her  anger.  She  used  to  abuse  my 
late  Lady's  ear  with  many  a  false  tale,  as  she  did 
about  Meg  here,  because,  forsooth,  Meg  would 
not  wed  her  nephew.  But  I  shall  let  people 
know  what  her  legends  are  worth." 

"Do  so,"  said  I.  And  I  doubt  not  she  will; 
foi  besides  that,  the  Lees  have  always  been  at- 
tached to  our  family  from  the  earliest  times,  the 
good  gammer  dearly  loves  a  gossip,  and  nuts  to 
her  to  be  able  at  once  to  contradict  Patience  and 
to  have  the  story  at  first  hand.  Yet,  such  is  the 
love  of  all  people  for  the  marvellous,  that  I  should 
not  wonder  if  the  ghost  story  should  continue  to 
be  believed,  and  that  for  many  generations.* 

*  She  was  right.  It  has  been  one  of  the  family  ghost  stories 
ever  since.  There  are  enough  of  them  to  make  a  chronicle  by  them- 
selves. D.  C. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


June  30. 
GREAT  event   has   happened,  so  un- 
expected that  I  don't  believe  it  even 
yet. 

Three  days  ago,  as  we  were  all  sitting 
at  supper,  comes  in  Thomas  and  says,  "  Here  is 
a  gentleman  from  Cornwell  to  see  you,  Sir  Ste- 
phen." 

"  Have  him  in,  man  !"  says  my  father  :  "  would 
you  keep  him  waiting  ?" 

"  Nay,  but  he  is  so  bespattered  with  his  journey," 
says  Thomas,  "  and  wearied  as  well.  He  says  his 
name  is  Penrose." 

"  Penrose — Penrose — the  name  hath  a  familiar 
ring  ;"  said  my  father,  musingly,  and  then  :  H  Bid 
him  never  mind  his  spatters,  but  bring  him  in. 
He  must  needs  be  sore  wearied  and  wet  too, 
riding  in  this  storm." 

The  gentleman  presently  entered — an  elderly 
man  and  thin — his  riding  dress  plain,  almost  to 
shabbiness.  My  father  rose  courteously  to  receive 
him. 

"  You  do  not  know    me    Stephen,"  says    the 


24b         Lady  Rosamond 's  Book;  of, 

stranger  :  "  yet  we  have  been  playmates  many 
a  day  at  Tremador  Court  " — 

"  Joslyn  Penrose  !"  exclaimed  my  father,  and 
then  ensued  a  cordial  greeting  enow. 

"And  how  is  my  good  aunt  ?"  asked  my  father 
presently.     "  She  is  an  old  lady  by  this  time." 

"She  is  gone  where  are  neither  old  nor  young," 
answered  the  stranger,  sadly.  "  My  good  old  friend 
and  patroness  was  buried  more  than  ten  days  ago. 
You  should  have  been  bidden  to  the  funeral,  but 
the  weather  was  warm,  and  we  had  to  hasten 
matters." 

"Tis  just  as  well !"  said  my  father:  "I  don't 
believe  she  would  have  asked  me  if  she  had  had 
her  way,  for  I  was  never  in  her  good  graces  since 
the  day  I  was  so  maladroit  as  to  kill  her  cat  with 
my  cross-bow.  'Twas  a  mere  piece  of  ill-luck,  for 
I  would  not  have  hurt  a  hair  of  poor  puss  if  I  had 
only  seen  her.  Well,  she  is  gone,  and  peace  to  her 
soul !  I  hope  she  has  made  thee  her  heir,  after  all 
these  years,  Joslyn  !" 

u  Nay,  that  she  has  not  !"  answered  Master  Pen- 
rose. "Tis  even  that  which  has  brought  me 
here." 

"The  old  cat !"  exclaimed  my  father. 

"Wait  till  you  hear,  before  you  condemn  !"  an- 
swered our  guest.  But  here  my  mother  interposed. 
The  gentleman  was  surely  too  weary  and  hungry 
to  be  kept  discoursing  of  business.  He  should  be 
shown  to  his  chamber,  and  then  come  to  supper 
with  us,  before  he  said  another  word. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  CAromcles.       2tf 

"  And  so  she  has  kept  Jos  Penrose  waiting  on 
her  like  a  slave  all  these  years,  managing  for  her, 
and  serving  her  more  like  a  servant  than  a  kins- 
man, only  to  bilk  him  at  last,"  said  my  father. 

"  I  would  not  have  been  kept  waiting  !"  said 
Harry.  "  I  would  have  struck  out  something  for 
myself." 

"  You  would  not  if  you  had  been  Joslyn,"  an- 
swered my  father.  "  He  was  not  one  to  do  so. 
He  could  manage  well  enough  for  others,  but 
never  could  keep  two  groats  together  for  himself. 
Besides  that  his  life  was  spoiled  by  a  woman,  as 
many  another  man's  life  has  been,  and  will  be. 
Take  care,  Harry,  my  son,  that  you  pay  him  all 
due  kindness  and  deference." 

By  this  time  our  guest  had  come  back,  and  was 
soon  seated  at  the  table,  each  of  us  being  present- 
ed to  him  in  turn.  When  my  turn  came,  Master 
Penrose  looked  earnestly  at  me,  as  if  he  had  some 
special  interest  in  me. 

"So  this  is  the  young  lady,"  said  he,  smiling 
somewhat  sadly.  "  In  truth,  though  favor  may 
be  deceitful  and  beauty  vain,  as  the  wise  man 
said,  Mistress  Rosamond  hath  that  in  her  face 
that  makes  me  rejoice  in  her  good  fortune." 

"Rosamond  is  a  good  maiden,  as  maidens  go," 
said  my  father :  "but  what  mean  you,  Joslyn? 
What  good  fortune  hath  befallen  her  ?  Has  my 
aunt  left  her  guardian  of  her  popinjay,  or  given 
her  the  reversion  of  that  black  damask  gown,  1 
remember  so  well  ?" 


£/<?         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  More  than  that !"  answered  Master  Pennx*;. 
M  Mistress  Rosamond  is  sole  heir  to  Tremador, 
and  all  its  appurtenances.  Tis  a  fine  estate,  for 
our  part  of  the  world — not  less  than  an  hundred 
and  fifty  a  year,  though  saddled  with  a  life  annuity 
of  twenty  pounds  a  year  to  myself.  Also,  I  am 
to  have  my  nest  for  life  in  the  old  tower  where  I 
have  lived  so  long,  and  a  seat  at  table  and  in  hall, 
unless  Mistress  Rosamond  objects." 

"  Mistress  Rosamond  is  no  child  of  her  father's 
if  she  does  !"  said  Sir  Stephen.  "  But  are  you 
sure  ?  'Tis  passing  strange  !  I  thought  she 
would  make  you  her  heir,  or  else  leave  all  to  the 
convent  yonder.  Rosamond  was  her  namesake, 
'tis  true,  but  she  has  never  taken  any  more  notice 
of  the  child  than  to  send  her  some  old-fashioned 
gewgaws  once  on  a  time.  'Tis  not  right  nor  fair, 
Joslyn  !  You  should  have  been  the  heir,  and  not 
my  daughter." 

"  Nay,  I  am  well  content !"  answered  Master 
Penrose.  "  My  wants  are  few,  and  if  Mistress 
Rosamond  will  let  me  live  where  I  have  lived  so 
long,  I  shall  not  trouble  her  many  years." 

My  mother  looked  at  me,  and  made  me  a  sign 
to  speak  ;  and  though  I  was  so  covered  with  con- 
fusion that  I  could  hardly  find  words,  I  did  man- 
age to  say  that,  so  far  as  I  had  any  voice  in  the 
matter,  I  hoped  Master  Penrose  would  always 
make  my  aunt's  house  his  home.  Then  Master 
Penrose  kissed  my  hand  and  made  me  a  pretty 
old-fashioned  compliment ;  and  I  was  so  confused 


Ike  Stanton- Corbet  Chronides,       249 

and  stunned  with  it  all,  that  I  think,  like  a  fool, 
I  should  have  burst  out  crying,  only  that  my 
mother,  seeing  my  trouble,  came  to  my  aid  and 
rose  from  the  table. 

"  We  will  leave  you  to  talk  over  matters  by 
yourselves,"  said  she,  courteously.  "Rosamond 
is  somewhat  overcome,  and  no  wonder." 

When  I  was  alone  with  my  Lady,  I  soon  re- 
covered myself.  She  does  not  like  to  have  me 
weep,  and  I  am  learning  self-control.  We  talked 
the  matter  over,  and  I  said  what  I  felt ;  that  I 
could  not  think  my  aunt  had  done  right — that 
she  should  have  made  Master  Penrose  her  heir, 
and  not  a  stranger,  whom  she  had  never  even 
seen. 

"  People,  even  very  good  people,  often  make 
very  strange  and  unjust  wills,"  said  my  Lady  ; 
and  with  that  she  sighed  somewhat  sadly.  "  But 
we  will  not  conclude  that  your  aunt's  will  is  of 
this  kind,  till  we  know  something  more  of  the 
circumstances.  She  may  have  had  good  reasons 
for  the  arrangement.  You  heard  what  your  father 
baid  about  Master  Penrose,  that  though  a  good 
manager  for  others,  he  could  never  keep  too 
groats  together  for  himself.  Some  notion  of  this 
kind  may  have  governed  my  old  Lady  Tremador 
in  leaving  him  only  an  annuity." 

"  I  am  sorry  about  this,  for  one  reason,"  said  I, 
presently.  "  People  will  say  I  chose  a  secular 
life,  because  I  had  this  fortune  left  me." 

My  mother  smiled.     "  Sh^1  T  **H  vou  a  motto 


2j;o        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  Or, 

I  saw  once  in  Scotland  ?"  said  she.  "  Twas 
graven  over  the  door  of  the  college  founded  by 
the  Earl  Mareschal  at  Aberdeen* — and  ran  thus — 
1  They  haf  said—  What  said  they  ?  Let  them 
say  !'  'Twas  an  odd  motto  for  such  a  place,  was 
it  not  ?  But  it  may  serve  well  enough  for  us.  Many 
things  will  be  said  about  your  choice,  without 
dou'bt,  but  what  matter  ?     Let  them  say." 

"  Yet  one  cannot  be  indifferent  to  what  folks 
say  of  one,"  quoth  I  :  "  and  I  hardly  know  if  it  is 
right  to  be  so." 

"  It  is  not  right  to  be  so  indifferent  as  to  pro- 
voke comment  needlessly,"  answered  my  Lady  ; 
"  but  when  we  know  that  we  have  done  right  we 
must  be  content  to  leave  the  rest." 

My  Lady  then  saying  that  I  looked  weary,  sent 
me  to  bed,  and  I  saw  our  guest  no  more  that 
night.  I  feel  well  acquainted  and  at  ease  with 
him  now,  however,  and  shall,  I  hope,  be  more  so. 
Tis  settled  that  next  week  we  are  all — that  is 
my  father,  mother,  Harry  and  myself — to  go  to 
Trcmador  to  take  possession,  and  see  what  is  to 
be  done  in  the  way  of  repairs  and  the  like. 
Master  Penrose  journeys  with  us.  My  father 
would  gladly  have  taken  Master  Ellenwood,  on 
whose  judgment  he  relies  greatly  in  business  mat; 
ters,  but  Master  Ellenwood  expects  his  brother 
from  Amsterdam  to  make  him   a  visit.     Master 

*  This  is  an  anachronism.     Mareschal  College  was  not  founded  till 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       251 

Jasper  is  said  to  be  a  wonderful  scholar,  a  friend 
of  Erasmus,  and  very  deep  in  the  new  learning, 
both  Greek  and  Latin.  My  mother,  who  has 
been  in  Amsterdam  with  her  first  husband,  says 
she  fears  our  housekeeping  will  seem  very  rough 
and  sluttish  to  Master  Jasper's  Dutch  notions. 
She  tells  me  that  in  Holland  they  strew  no 
rushes  on  the  floors  even  of  their  dining-halls, 
but  that  the  floors  are  made  of  fine  inlaid  woods 
or  stones,  and  the  same  are  washed  or  rubbed 
with  fine  sand  every  day,  and  then  waxed  till 
they  shine  like  glass.  Madam  herself  is  counted 
over  particular  by  our  men  and  maids  because 
she  will  have  all  the  rushes  renewed  and  the 
rooms  thoroughly  swept  every  week  instead  of 
every  month,  as  used  to  be  the  way.  Also,  • 
will  have  no  rushes  in  her  chamber  or  mine,  say- 
ing that  they  breed  fleas  and  other  vermin,  and 
hide  the  dust.  Certainly  the  air  in  our  house  is 
far  sweeter  than  I  remember  it  formerly.  But  it 
seems  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  wash  floors 
every  day,  and  I  should  think  would  be  damp 
and  unwholesome.  Probably  in  Holland  a  little- 
water  more  or  less  does  not  matter. 

My  Lady  has  told  me  much  of  the  comfort  and 
splendor  in  which  the  Dutch  merchants  live,  oi 
their  beautiful  pictures,  presenting  flowers  and 
other  objects  in  all  the  hues  of  life,  of  their  noble 
collections  of  books,  and  the  quantities  of  fine 
house  linen,  garments,  and  other  things  which 
tjjeir  wives  lay  up  and  orovide  against  the  marriage 


252  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

of  their  daughters.  I  remember  Mother  Monic» 
telling  Amice  and  me  that  in  her  day  the  mer- 
chants of  London  lived  in  far  more  comfort  than 
the  nobles  and  courtiers. 

This  journey  into  Cornwall,  which  seems  like  a 
perilous  adventure  to  me,  my  Lady  makes  no- 
thing of,  save  as  she  seems  to  enjoy  the  thoughts 
of  it.  My  father  is  going  to  stop  on  the  way  at 
the  house  of  Sir  John  Carey,  who  hath  long  owed 
him  a  sum  of  money.  He  is  a  kinsman  of  our 
neighbors  at  Clovely,  but  they  know  little  of 
him.  save  that  he  last  year  lost  his  only  son  in 
some  very  sad  way,  that  I  did  not  clearly  under- 
stand. Sir  John  is  now  old  and  feeble,  and  hath 
more  than  once  sent  asking  my  father  to  come 
and  see  him,  but  it  hath  not  been  convenient 
hitherto. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 


July  20,  Tremadocy  in  Cornwall. 
ERE  we  are,  at  this  grim,  sad  old  house, 
which  yet  hath  a  wonderful  charm  to 
me,  maybe  because  it  is  my  house.  It 
seems  such  a  surprising  thing  to  call  a 
house  mine.  We  have  been  here  three  or  four 
days,  and  I  am  not  yet  weary  of  exploring  the 
old  rooms,  and  asking  questions  of  Mistress 
Grace,  my  aunt's  old  bower-woman.  The  good 
soul  took  to  me  at  once,  and  answers  all  my 
queries  with  the  most  indulgent  patience.  Albeit 
I  am  sometimes  sore  put  to  understand  her. 
Mistress  Grace,  it  is  true,  speaks  English,  though 
with  a  strong  Cornish  accent  ;  but  some  of  the 
servants  and  almost  all  the  cottagers  speak  the 
Cornish  tongue,  which  is  as  unknown  as  Greek  to 
me.  Master  Penrose,  or  Cousin  Joslyn,  as  he 
likes  best  to  have  me  call  him,  who  is  very  learned, 
says  the  language  is  related  to  the  Welsh. 

Mistress  Grace  has  also  been  very  much  inter- 
ested in  dressing  up  poor  Joyce.  She  has  made 
the  child  a  nice  suit  out  of  an  old  one  of  her  Lady's, 
combed  and  arranged  her  tangled  hair,   and  so 


254       Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

forth,  and  'tis  wonderful  how  different  Joyce  looks. 
She  is  really  very  lovely.  She  seems  to  like  me 
well,  but  clings  most  to  my  Lady,  whom  she 
would  fain  follow  like  a  little  dog,  I  think.  I 
wish  she  would  get  over  that  way  of  shrinking 
and  looking  so  scared  when  any  one  speaks  to 
her  ;  but  I  dare  say  that  will  come  in  time,  poor 
thing.  My  mother  says  'tis  a  wonder  she  hath 
any  sense  left.  But  what  a  way  is  this  of  writing 
a  chronicle  !  I  must  begin,  and  orderly  set  down 
the  events  of  our  journey  as  they  happened. 

It  took  some  days  to  make  our  preparations, 
for  my  mother  would  have  me  in  suitable  mourning 
before  setting  out.  She  said  it  was  no  more  than 
due  respect  to  our  aunt's  memory,  seeing  what 
she  had  done  for  me.  'Twas  like  putting  on  my 
old  convent  weeds  again  ;  and  strange  to  say, 
seemed  as  new  to  me  as  if  I  had  not  worn  black 
all  my  life  long.  Dick  (who  has  been  away  on 
some  business  of  my  Lord's,)  coming  in  upon  me 
in  the  twilight,  started  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

"  I  thought  we  had  seen  the  last  of  that !"  said 
he  :  "  Rosamond,  I  thought  you  had  done  with 
the  convent  forever  !"  j 

"  And  so  I  have  !"  I  answered  ;  and  told  him 
how  it  was.  Methought  he  did  not  seem  so  well 
pleased  as  I  should  have  been,  had  such  a  piece 
of  good  luck  befallen  him. 

"  They  will  be  more  loth  than  ever  to  give  you 
up  !"  said  he.  "  The  estate  of  Tremadoc  would 
£e  a  fine  windfall  for  them  !  Rosamond,  you  have 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       255 

need  to  be  on  your  guard  !  They  will  not  let  you 
go  without  a  struggle.  Pray  be  careful  and  do  not 
wander  away  by  yourself,  especially  while  you 
are  on  the  journey,  or  in  Cornwall." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  fear  for  me  ?"  I  asked.  "  You 
are  not  used  to  be  so  timid."  I  wished  the  words 
unsaid  in  a  moment,  for  I  saw  that  they  hurt  him. 

"  Tis  not  for  myself,  if  I  am  timid  !"  he  an- 
swered me,  with  a  look  of  reproach  ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose plain  Dick  Stanton,  the  son  of  a  younger  son, 
must  not  be  too  free  with  the  heiress  of  Trema- 
doc !" 

A  year  ago,  I  suppose,  we  should  have  had  our 
quarrel  out  and  made  it  up  again  in  our  old  child- 
ish fashion  ;  but  I  did  not  feel  like  that  now. 

"  Richard,"  says  I,  "  did  you  learn  that  fashion 
of  speech  out  of  the  book  you  would  not  lend  me 
that  day  in  the  maze  ?  For  I  too  have  been 
studying  it,  and  I  have  found  no  such  thing,  but 
on  the  contrary  a  good  deal  about  thinking  no 
evil,"  says  I. 

He  had  turned  to  go,  but  was  back  at  my  side 
in  a  moment.  "  Forgive  me,  Rosamond !"  he 
whispered  :  "  I  am  very  wrong  !" 

"  That  indeed  you  are  !"  said  I.  "  Why  should 
my  aunt's  will  make  any  difference  between  us, 
who  have  been  playmates  from  the  time  we  were 
little  children  ?" 

"  But  we  are  not  little  children  now  !"  he  an- 
swered me,  with  a  strange  break  in  his  voice  ;  "  we 
are  not  children  now,  and  never  can  be  again  : 


2 $6  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  oY> 

and  oh,  Rosamond,  I  have  been  cherishing  such 
sweet  hopes  ever  since  I  heard  that  you  had  given 
up  being  a  nun  !" 

"  I  don't  know  what  more  he  might  have  said, 
but  my  father  came  in  just  then,  and  would  have 
all  the  news  of  Dick's  journey ;  and  we  were  not 
alone  again. 

"  Richard  and  my  Lord  rode  one  stage  with  us 
beyond  Biddeford.  My  Lord  and  my  father  were 
deep  in  converse  (the  roads  being  good  for  the 
first  stage,  we  were  able  to  ride  two  abreast),  and 
Richard  rode  by  my  side,  Harry  as  usual  being 
close  to  my  mother.  But  there  was  little  chance 
for  any  private  converse,  and  I  think  we  were 
both  very  silent.  My  Lord  would- send  one  of 
his  own  men  with  us  as  an  additional  guard, 
though  methinks  our  own  three,  with  my  father 
and  Harry,  should  be  enough. 

M 1  would  loan  you  Dick  here,  but  that  he  is 
my  right-hand  man — I  cannot  spare  him,"  said 
my  Lord,  as  we  parted.  "  Take  care  of  your 
heart,  my  fair  cousin,  and  do  not  lose  it  to  any  of 
the  Cornish  knights.  Remember,  *  Better  a  poor 
neighbor  than  a  rich  stranger.' " 

"  Aye,  my  Lord,  but  there  is  another  proverb — 
'Better  kind  strangers  than  strange  kin,'  I 
answered. 

"What,  have  you  and  Dick  quarrelled  ?  Nay. 
I  shall  not  have  that !"  whispered  my  Lord  in 
mine  ear,  as  he  gave  my  cheek  a  parting  salute. 
"  Be  kind  to  him,  my  Rose  of  May!     He  was 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       25J 

faithful  to  you  when  he  had  many  a  temptation 
to  be  otherwise." 

Richard  kissed  my  cheek,  as  usual,  at  parting, 
but  there  was  that  in  his  look  and  the  pressure 
of  his  hand 

\I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  drawn  my  pen 
through  this,  as  it  seems  I  did.  I  suppose  I  could 
not  yet  feel  that  'twas  no  sin  to  think  of  my  cousin. 
I  knew  then  that  Dick  loved  me,  and  from  my  Lord's 
whisper,  I  could  guess  tvell  enough  that  he  was  no 
ways  averse  to  the  match,  and  yet  I  felt,  7  know  not 
how,  as  if  I  had  committed  a  mortal  sin  for  which 
yet  I  could  not  repent.  The  truth  was,  I  could 
not  yet  quite  come  to  feel  that  I  was  a  free  woman, 
at  least  under  no  law  but  my  father  s  will.  I  know 
I  rode  in  a  kind  of  dream  all  the  rest  of  that  day.] 

We  reached  the  end  of  our  stage  about  four  of 
the 'clock,  tired  and  wearied  enough,  yet  with  no 
adventures  more  than  those  which  I  believe  befall 
all  travellers,  of  tired  beasts  and  men,  plentiful 
splashes  of  mud,  and  once  or  twice  a  horse  stuck 
fast  in  the  mire  and  hardly  got  out  again.  Cousin 
Joslyn  being  with  us,  we  were  in  no  danger  of 
missing  the  road,  as  we  should  otherwise  have 
been,  and  our  numbers  were  great  enough  to  keep 
in  awe  any  bands  of  robbers  that  we  were  likely 
to  meet  in  these  parts.  We  stayed  the  first  night 
at  a  farm-house,  where  the  good  yeoman  and  his 
Hife  made  us  heartilv  welcome  to  the  best  they 


2jS        Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  or, 

had  of  fowls,  bacon,  clotted  cream,  and  I  know 
not  what  'country  dainties,  and  we  in  return  for 
their  hospitality  told  them  the  last  news  from 
London  and  the  Court.  They  had  heard  some- 
thing even  in  this  odd  corner  of  the  world  of  the 
good  Queen's  disgrace,  and  the  women  were 
eager  for  particulars. 

"  Tis  all  the  fault  of  the  new  doctrines — those 
pestilent  heresies  that  crawl  over  the  land  like 
palmer  worms,"  said  a  begging  friar,  a  guest  like 
ourselves,  but  methought  scarce  so  welcome. 
"  'Tis  they  have  put  these  maggots  in  the  King's 
head." 

"  Nay,  I  think  you  are  wrong  there,"  answered 
my  father.  "'Tis  true,  Mistress  Anne  is  reported 
for  a  Lutheran,  and  maybe  some  of  the  same  sort 
may  build  hopes  on  her  advancement  ;  but  Luther 
himself  has  lifted  his  voice  manfully  against  the 
divorce,  and  Tyndale — he  who  has  set  forth  this 
new  translation   of  the  Gospels  " — 

"  The  curses  of  Mother  Church  and  all  the  saints 
upon  him  !"  interrupted  the  friar,  spitting  in  token 
of  his  abhorrence,  "  he  is  the  arch  fiend  of  them 
all — worse  than  Luther  himself,  even  !" 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  hath  written  a  letter 
against  the  divorce,  and  that  of  the  sharpest !" 
answered  my  mother.  "  'Tis  said  his  Majesty's 
wrath  was  aroused  far  more  by  the  letter  than  it 
was  even  by  the  translation  of  the  Gospels." 

"  Aye,  have  they  got  the  Gospels  in  English 
again  ?"  said  a  very  old  man,  who  had  been  sitting 


Tht  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       239 

in  a  great  chair,  apparently  unmindful  of  all  that 
was  going  on.  (I  had  seen  with  pleasure  how 
neat  and  clean  he  was,  and  how  careful  the  good 
woman  was  to  prepare  his  mess  of  food,  serving 
him  with  the  best  on  the  board.)  "  Well,  well, 
the  world  goes  on,  but  methinks  it  goes  back  as 
well  "— 

"  How  so,  good  father  ?"  asked  my  mother. 

"Oh,  'tis  but  an  old  man's  tale  now,  my  lady  ; 
but  when  I  was  very  young — younger  than  your 
son  yonder — there  was  great  stir  about  one  Wick- 
liffe,  who,  'twas  said,  made  an  English  Bible.  Our 
parish  priest  had  one,  and  read  it  out  to  us  in 
the  church  many  a  Sunday,  marvellous  good 
words,  sure — marvellous  good  words.  But  they 
stopped  him  at  last  and  hied  him  away  to  some 
of  their  convent  prisons.  'Twas  said  that  he 
would  not  recant,  and  they  made  way  with  him. 
They  said  'twas  rank  heresy  and  blasphemy — but 
they  were  marvellous  good  words — I  mind  some 
of  them  now — '  Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  refresh 
you,  ye  weary  and  laden.'  It  ran  like  that,  as 
1  remember  :  '  God  loved  the  world  so  that  he 
gave  his  Son — that  he  who  believed  should  have 
— should  have  ' — what  was  that  again  ?" 

"  ■  Should  have  everlasting  life' — was  that  it,  my 
father  ?"  said  I,  speaking  I  know  not  why,  from 
some  will,  as  it  seemed,  not  my  own. 

"Aye,  that  is  it,"  answered  the  old  man, 
eagerly,  his  wasted  face  lighting  up.  "  I  thank 
you,  my  young  lady — the  blessing  of  an  old  man 


260         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  at, 

be  on  your  fair  head — ■  everlasting  life' — aye  that 
is  it  !  Bless  you,  Madam  !  Yes,  yes  !  *  Ever- 
lasting life  I" " 

"  And  where  learned  you  so  much,  my  fair 
lady  ?"  asked  the  friar,  bending  his  brows  on  me 
in  no  friendly  way. 

"From  the  Vulgate  of  the  blessed  Saint  Je- 
rome, reverend  sir,"  I  answered  demurely  :  "  I 
am  convent  bred,  and  can  construe  Latin." 

"  More's  the  pity,"  growled  the  friar.  "  They 
had  done  better  to  teach  you  to  hold  your  tongue, 
and  mind  your  spindle  and  needle.  'Twas  never 
a  good  world  since  women  and  laymen  learned 
to  read  and  write  !" 

My  mother  made  me  a  sign  not  to  answer,  and 
presently  we  disposed  ourselves  for  bed — my 
mother  and  I  in  one  room,  my  father  and  Harry 
in  the  other.  Our  beds  were  but  of  straw,  but 
fresh  and  with  clean  and  lavendered,  though  very 
coarse  linen.  The  good  woman  made  many 
apologies,  though  I  am  sure,  none  were  needful, 
and  after  lingering  a  little  came  close  up,  and 
said  in  a  whisper  : 

"You  will  not  think  ill  of  my  poor  gaffer,  my 
Lady — indeed,  he  is  no  heretic,  but  a  godly  and 
devout  old  man.  You  see  he  is  more  than  a 
hundred  years  old,  and  old  men's  minds  do 
mostly  run  on  what  they  have  heard  and  thought 
when  young.  But  he  is  no  heretic,  but  a  good 
old  man  !" 

"  That  I  can  well  believe,"  said  my  mother  : 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       261 

"  1  am  glad  his  reverend  age  finds  such  a  safe  and 
warm  harbor.  Believe  me,  good  dame,  your 
dutifulness  to  him  will  not  go  unrewarded." 

"  Nay,  we  were  worse  than  the  heathen  not  to 
care  for  our  gaffer,"  answered  the  woman,  and 
again  bidding  us  good-night,  she  departed. 

We  slept  well,  despite  our  hard  beds,  and  were 
awakened  early  by  the  crowing  of  fowls,  the 
bleating  of  sheep,  and  the  loud-voiced  directions 
of  the  yoeman  and  his  dame  to  their  men  and 
maids.  They  would  not  let  us  go  till  we  had 
broken  our  fast,  and  set  us  down  to  a  plentiful 
table  again.  The  old  man  was  not  in  his  place, 
and  my  father  noticed  it. 

"  Aye,  gaffer  sleeps  late,  and  we  never  rouse 
him,"  said  the  good  man.  "Besides,  I  had  no 
mind  he  should  be  questioned  and  teased  by 
yonder  friar.  A  plague  on  them,  say  I — black 
cattle,  that  spare  no  man's  field,  but  live  on  the 
work  of  other  men.  Time  was  when  we  thought 
the  begging  friars  the  best  of  the  clergy,  and 
now  I  think  they  are  every  one  worse  than 
another." 

'Tis  strange  how  the  clergy  generally  seem  to 
be  losing  their  hold  on  the  common  folk,  and 
how  little  they  seem  to  be  aware  of  it.  The 
good  people  would  take  no  fee  for  our  entertain- 
ment, saying  that  they  so  seldom  had  any  guests 
that  it  was  a  pure  pleasure  to  them.  My  mother, 
however,  prevailed  on  the  dame  to  accept  a  hood 
and  pinners  of  black  Cyprus,  and  a  bottle  of  her 


262  Lady  Rosamond' s  Book  ;  or, 

famous  bitter  and  spicy  cordial  for  her  daughter, 
who  is  weakly,  and  failing  with  a  cruel  tertian 
ague,  which  shakes  her  to  pieces  every  spring,  and 
hardly  gives  her  time  to  take  breath  before  it 
comes  again  in  the  fall. 

We  travelled  much  more  slowly  the  second 
day,  over  a  wild  country,  mostly  moorland,  with 
here  and  there  a  deep  dell  wherein  would  be  a 
rushing  stream  and  a  few  trees,  with  often  a  cool 
fountain  gushing  from  the  rocks.  We  saw  but 
few  inhabitants,  and  those  of  the  wildest,  more 
like  savages  than  aught  I  ever  conceived  of 
Englishmen.  My  Cousin  Joslyn  says  they  are 
indeed  savages,  and  all  but  heathen  in  their 
usages. 

"Worse  than  heathen,  maybe,"  said  old  Job 
Dean,  who  has  had  no  good  will  to  this  journey 
from  the  first.  "  Every  one  knows  what  moormen 
are.  They  are  no  more  proper  human  beings 
than  mermen  are — brutes  that  make  no  scruple 
to  feed  on  human  flesh,  when  by  their  wiles  and 
magic  arts  they  cause  any  poor  travellers  to  lose 
their  way  on  these  God-forsaken  wastes." 
1  "Methinks  no  magic  arts  would  be  needed  to 
make  one  lose  one's  way  on  these  moors,  in  dark- 
ness or  a  fog,"  said  my  father. 

"  You  are  right,"  answered  Cousin  Joslyn. 
"Many  lives  are  lost  on  them  every  year,  not 
however,  as  I  think,  by  any  arts  or  cannibal  tastes 
oi  these  poor  savages,  but  from  the  want  of  any 
roads   or    hostelries,   the   sudden   fogs,  and   the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       26 j 

treacherous  nature  of  the  soil,  abounding  in  bogs, 
quicksands,  and  old  mining  excavations  made  by 
the  heathen  long  ago.  As  for  these  poor  crea- 
tures, I  have  ever  found  them,  though  timid,  dis- 
trustful and  full  of  wild  and  heathen  superstitions, 
yet  kindly  disposed  enow." 

"  You  have  been  among  them,  then  ?"  asked 
my  mother. 

"Yes,  Madam,  in  my  wanderings  after  herbs 
and  simples,  birds'  nests  and  strange  stones," 
answered  Cousin  Joslyn,  smiling  somewhat  sadly. 
"  The  people  about  Tremadoc  will  tell  you  that 
I  am  either  mad  as  a  March  hare,  or  else  that  I 
am  a  conjuror,  as  dangerous  as  the  moormen 
themselves." 

We  ate  our  midday  meal  by  the  side  of  one  of 
the  streams  I  spoke  of,  and  seeing  some  of  the 
wild  people — a  woman  and  two  children,  peeping 
out  at  us  from  behind  the  bushes — my  mother 
laid  some  of  our  abundant  provision  on  a  rock, 
and  by  signs  made  them  welcome  ;  and  after  our 
departure  we  looked  back  from  the  other  side  of 
the  stream,  and  saw  them  devouring  the  food 
with  ravenous  haste. 

"  Poor  things !  I  am  glad  they  will  have  had 
one  pleasure  to-day,"  said  my  mother,  nodding  to 
the  woman,  who  nodded  in  return,  and  made  an 
odd  gesture,  stooping  to  the  stream,  and  throw- 
ing the  water  toward  us  with  her  hands. 

"  That  is  to  bring  us  good  luck  on  our  journey,' 
observed  Cousin  Joslvn. 


264        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

• 

"  More  like  to  put  a  spell  on  us  and  our  horses, 
that  we  may  fall  into  their  power  !"  growled  old 
Job.  "  I  would  like  to  send  some  arrows  among 
them  !"     So  cruel  is  even  fear,  in  all  its  shapes. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  it  was  growing  dark  when 
we  entered  upon  the  lands  of  Sir  John  Carey,  and 
saw  his  house  before  us  on  the  hillside — a  tumble- 
down old  pile,  half  manor-house,  half  castle,  once 
evidently  a  stronghold,  but  fast  falling  to  decay. 

"  That  does  not  look  as  if  the  knight  were  very 
prosperous,"  said  my  father. 

"  And  its  look  speaks  truth,"  answered  Cousin 
Joslyn.  "  This  present  knight's  father  lost  much 
in  the  civil  wars,  and  more  by  the  exactions  of 
the  late  King's  unworthy  ministers.  Sir  John 
went  up  to  London  on  the  present  King's  acces- 
sion, and  there  mended  his  fortune  by  marrying  a 
city  heiress,  who  brought  him  gold  enough  to 
have  rebuilt  this  poor  old  pile.  But  he  was  drawn 
into  Court  life,  and  he  and  his  dame  must  needs 
raffle  it  in  velvet  and  cloth  of  gold,  with  masks, 
entertainments  and  what  not,  till  the  lady's  for- 
tune was  wasted  in  a  year  or  two  and  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  return  hither,  and  live  as  best 
they  might — and  bad  is  the  best,  if  all  tales  say 
true." 

"  Aye,  'twas  then  I  was  fool  enough  to  lend 
him  eight  hundred  pounds  !"  said  my  father.  "  I 
fear  I  shall  never  see  principal  or  interest 
again." 

As  he  spoke,  we  arrived  at   the  doors   of  the 


TTie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       265 

manor  house,  which  stood  wide  open,  so  that  we 
could  see  within  a  large  hall,  at  the  upper  end  of 
which  preparations  seemed  to  be  making  for  sup- 
per. Out  rushed  a  tumultuous  throng  of  dogs 
of  all  sorts,  and  blue-coated  serving-men,  in  every 
stage  of  shabbiness.  The  dogs  barked,  the  men 
hallooed,  our  horses,  alarmed  by  the  tumult,  rear- 
ed and  pranced,  and  I  began  to  think  we  should 
indeed  be  devoured,  though  not  by  moormen, 
when  Sir  John  himself  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
by  threats,  oaths,  and  a  liberal  use  of  his  crutch- 
headed  staff,  restored  something  like  order.  He 
then  advanced  to  my  mother,  and  giving  her  his 
hand  to  alight,  welcomed  us  with  much  courtesy 
to  his  poor  house.  He  must  have  been  a  very 
handsome  gentleman  in  his  day,  but  he  looks  old 
ind  feeble,  soured  and  peevish.  My  Lady  stood 
in  the  hall  and  greeted  us  in  her  turn,  as  we  were 
presented  by  her  husband,  with — 

"  Lor,  Madam,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though 
'tis  but  little  we  can  do  to  make  you  comfortable. 
We  are  but  poor  country  folk,  now — not  like  what 
you  once  knew  me,  Sir  Stephen,  when  I  had  mine 
own  home  and  purse,  and  was  served  in  my 
father's  house  like  a  Queen.  Alack,  I  little 
thought  then  I  should  live  to  see  this  day  !  But 
you  are  welcome  to  what  we  have  !" 

My  mother  made  some  polite  speech,  such  as 
she  is  never  at  a  loss  for.  I  was  glad  I  was  not 
called  on  to  say  anything. 

"And  these  are  your  son  and  daughter— lack 


266        Lady  Rosamond's  Booh;  or, 

a  day  !  a  fine  young  lady  and  gentleman — but  1 
believe  they  are  none  of  yours,  Madam  ?" 

"  I  call  them  mine,"  answered  my  mother,  smil- 
ing. 

"  Aye,  to  be  sure — but  they  can  never  be  quite 
the  same,  methinks.  We  have  no  children  now 
— we  had  a  son  once,  but  he  is  dead." 

Her  sharp  voice  and  face  softened  a  moment, 
and  then  grew  sharper  than  ever,  as  she  exclaimed, 
turning  to  a  little  thin  maiden  with  unkempt,  un- 
covered locks  and  a  kirtle  like  a  milkmaid's,  of 
coarse  stuff,  and  neither  clean  nor  whole,  who  had 
crept  into  the  hall  while  she  was  speaking  : 

"  What  do  you  here,  minion  ?  Did  I  not  forbid 
you  to  leave  your  chamber  ?"  And  with  that  she 
gave  the  child  a  blow  on  the  side  of  her  face  which 
reddened  her  cheek  and  almost  threw  her  over. 
The  maid  gave  her  a  glance  of  defiance,  and  then 
looking  at  me,  she  suddenly  blushed  all  over  her 
pale  face  and  throat,  burst  into  tears,  and  ran  out 
of  the  hall. 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,  madam  ;  but  'tis  such  an 
ill-conditioned  wench  she  puts  me  past  all  pa- 
tience. But  you  would  like  to  wash  before  supper. 
Here,  Dorothy  Joan,  show  the  ladies  to  their 
rooms." 

We  found  our  rooms  furnished  with  some  rich- 
ness, albeit  the  furniture  was  old,  worn,  and  far 
from  well  kept  ;  and  the  air  seemed  so  damp  and 
mouldy  that  I  thought  with  regret  of  our  last 
night's  lodging,  perfumed  with  lavender  and  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       267 

smell  of  clean  straw.  An  old  woman  brought 
water  and  towels,  and  we  arranged  our  dress 
hastily,  not  to  keep  the  supper  waiting. 

The  meal  was  set  out  when  we  came  down- 
stairs, and  we  took  our  places  at  the  board,  ac- 
cording to  our  rank.  I  saw  Mistress  Warner,  my 
mother's  gentlewoman,  regarding  the  board  and 
trenchers  with  anything  but  a  pleased  expression. 
As  for  my  mother,  if  she  had  to  sup  with  a  pig,  she 
would  never  hurt  the  pig's  feelings  by  showing 
any  discomforture,  and  I  tried  to  follow  her  ex- 
ample. 

"Where  is  Joyce  ?"  asked  Sir  Stephen,  after  we 
were  seated. 

"  In  her  chamber,  I  suppose,"  answered  my 
Lady.     "  Dorothy,  go  and  call  her." 

The  old  woman  who  had  waited  on  us  went 
away,  and  presently  returned  with  the  little 
maid  we  had  seen  on  our  arrival.  She  had  evi- 
dently taken  some  pains  to  put  the  child  in  order, 
but  she  was  still  such  a  forlorn  object  as  I  am 
sure  my  mother  would  not  permit  in  her  scullery. 
She  seemed  undecided  where  to  place  herself, 
but  at  a  nod  from  Sir  John,  she  slipped  into  a 
vacant  seat  between  my  father  and  Harry. 

"  What  a  figure  you  are,  child,"  quoth  my  Lady 
Carey  ;  "  but  'tis  no  use  to  dress  her,"  added  she, 
turning  to  my  mother.  "  One  might  as  well  dress 
a  hog  from  the  sty." 

The  black  eyes  threw  a  glance  of  indignant 
protestation  at  the  speaker,  which  showed  tll.it 


268  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

their  fire  was  not  wholly  quenched,  and  instantly 
fell  again. 

"  I  knew  not  you  had  a  daughter,  Sir  John," 
said  my  father. 

"Nor  have  I,"  answered  Sir  John,  while  my 
Lady  laughed  a  scornful,  affected  laugh.  "  This 
is  no  child  of  mine.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Jeffrey 
Copplestone  of  your  parts,  and  a  king's  ward.  I 
bought  her  of  her  guardian,  old  Master  Earle, 
for  two  hundred  pound  ready  money." 

11  And  a  poor  pennyworth  you  got  of  her," 
struck  in  his  Lady  :  "  'twas  an  ill  day  for  us  when 
she  crossed  the  threshhold." 

"  I  thought  as  she  had  a  fair  portion,  and  a 
decent  estate  in  land  to  her  breastlace,  she  might 
make  a  wife  to  my  son,"  continued  the  old  man, 
never  heeding  his  wife's  interruption  :  "  but  he 
would  none  of  her.  Welladay,  I  thought  not 
how  'twould  end  !  What  say  you,  Sir  Stephen, 
will  you  take  the  wench  off  my  hands,  and  give 
me  a  quittance  of  my  debt  to  you  ?  Her  land 
lies  handy  to  your  moorland  estate,  and  you  may 
marry  her  up  to  your  son  yonder." 

"  For  shame,  Sir  John  !  Think  you  such  a  fine 
young  squire  would  wed  such  a  scarecrow  as  our 
black  Joyce  ?"  said  my  Lady  Carey,  with  that 
scornful  laugh  again.  "  Not  but  it  would  be  a 
good  riddance  to  get  her  off  our  hands,  I  am 
sure.  Better  send  her  to  the  nunnery,  and  let 
her  estate  go  for  masses,  I  say." 
My  blood  boiled  to  hear  them  so  speak  of  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       269 

maid  to  her  very  face,  as  though  she  had  been  no 
better  than  a  brute.  Looking  at  her  I  saw  her 
great  eyes  raised  and  fixed  on  my  mother's,  with 
such  a  look  of  imploring  entreaty,  as  one  some- 
times sees  in  those  of  a  dumb  creature. 

"  And  so  you  are  Jeffrey  Copplestone's  maid  ?" 
said  my  father,  turning  to  Joyce,  and  speaking* 
kindly,  as  he  ever  does  to  the  weak  and  dumb  : 
"I  knew  your  father  well,  for  an  honest  and  brave 
gentleman,  and  we  stood  more  than  one  stricken 
field  together.  I  knew  not  that  he  had  left  a 
child." 

The  eyes  turned  on  my  father  this  time  with 
the  same  imploring  look,  but  not  a  word  did 
Joyce  say.  Sir  John  seemed  in  earnest  in  the 
matter,  and  at  last  my  father  said  they  would 
talk  it  over  again. 

When  my  mother  and  I  were  withdrawn  to 
our  chamber,  where  a  fire  was  lighted  by  this 
time,  which  did  us  little  good,  save  to  replace 
the  smell  of  mold  by  that  of  smoke — when  I 
say  we  were  withdrawn  to  our  chamber,  and  were 
talking  of  the  day's  adventures,  the  door  opened 
softly,  and  Joyce  showed  her  pale,  scared  face,  as 
doubting  whether  she  should  venture  in.  My 
mother  smiled  and  stretched  out  her  hand,  and 
the  action  seemed  to  re-assure  Joyce,  for  she 
rushed  to  my  mother's  side  and  fell  on  her  knees, 
bending  down  as  if  she  would  kiss  her  very  feet. 

"  Oh,  madam,  save  me  !"  she  cried,  imploringly, 
yet  low,  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard.     "Beg 


2jo        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

the  kind  gentleman,  your  husband,  to  buy  me. 
I  will  serve  you  on  my  knees  !  I  willherd  cows 
or  weed  corn,  anything  so  I  may  but  be  near  you 
and  away  from  here.  They  will  kill  me  or  drive 
me  mad  among  them  !     Oh,  take  me  away !" 

"Poor  maid,"  said  my  Lady  :  "poor  motherless, 
fatherless  child  !  Has  the  world  dealt  so  hardly 
with  thee  ?" 

"  Aye,  that  has  it,"  said  another  voice — that  of 
old  Dorothy,  who  had  come  in  like  a  mouse. 
"Joyce,  you  should  not  be  here  !  Think  if  my 
Lady  should  come  in  and  find  you !" 

Joyce  shrank  and  shivered  at  the  words,  as  if 
actually  beaten,  but  she  did  not  move,  till  after  a 
little  more  coaxing  and  threatening  she  arose, 
and  kissing  my  mother's  hand  more  than  once, 
crept  slowly  away. 

"  I  dare  not  let  her  stay,  and  that  is  the  truth," 
said  Dorothy,  after  she  had  closed  the  door, 
coming  near  us  and  speaking  low  :  "  my  Lady 
would  so  beat  her  for  it  if  she  knew." 

"  Is  she  then  such  an  ill-conditioned  child  ?" 
asked  my  mother. 

"  Nay,  she  was  well  enough  conditioned  when 
she  came  here,  five  years  agone,"  answered  Dor- 
othy. "  She  is  all  but  crazed  now,  and  :»:o  wonder  ; 
but  she  does  not  want  for  mother  wit,  though  she 
hath  had  no  teaching  such  as  a  young  lady  should 
have.  You  see  her  father  was  killed  in  a  duel 
before  she  was  born,  and  her  mother  dying  in 
child-bed,   she   became  a  King's  ward,  and   old 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Gironicles.       271 

Master  Earle  of  Biddeford  got  her  of  the  King  in 
lieu  they  say  of  moneys  advanced  to  his  Majesty's 
father.  Mistress  Earle  was  no  lady,  but  a  bust- 
ling, kindly  housewife,  and  the  girl  did  well 
enough  with  her  I  fancy,  but  her  husband  was  a 
true  usurer  and  cared  for  naught  but  money. 
When  the  good  dame  died  Master  Earle  would 
no  more  be  plagued  with  Joyce,  but  sold  her  to 
our  knight,  and  got,  so  our  old  steward  says,  by 
far  the  best  of  the  bargain.  Sir  John  thought  to 
mate  Joyce  with  our  young  master.  But  Master 
Walter  would  have  none  of  her,  though  he  was 
always  kind  and  brotherly  in  his  rough  way.  He 
had  grown  up  at  home,  and  learned  nothing  as 
he  ought,  and  nothing  would  serve  him  but  to 
fall  in  love — fall  indeed — with  Cicely  Woodson, 
our  bailiff's  fair  daughter." 

My  mother  here  glanced  at  me. 

"Oh,  there  was  nothing  wrong  then,  madam  !" 
said  the  old  woman,  interpreting  the  look.  ''Cicely 
was  as  proud  and  modest  as  any  young  lady,  aye, 
and  as  beautiful  too — a  fine  spirited  lass,  as  you 
will  see.  It  might  have  turned  out  well  enough, 
only  Sir  John  was  so  bent  on  making  up  the 
match  between  Walter  and  Mistress  Joyce.  So 
he  told  his  son  he  must  be  ready  on  a  certain  day. 
Walter  tried  at  first  to  put  the  matter  off,  and 
then  it  all  came  out  that  he  and  Cicely  were 
already  married  by  a  begging  friar.  My  master 
and  her  father  were  equally  enraged — the  mar- 
riage  was   pronounced    null  —  poor   Cicely   was 


272        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

hurried  away  to  a  convent,  and  Walter  warned 
that  he  must  submit  to  his  father.  But  mark 
what  followed  !  That  very  night  he  disappeared, 
and  next  day  word  came  that  Cicely  had  escaped 
from  her  convent.  But  they  followed  them — alas, 
poor  things  ! — and  found  them  at  last.  The 
woman  was  dragged  back  to  her  cell — to  what 
fate  I  leave  you  to  guess — and  Master  Walter 
was  brought  home  and  shut  up  in  the  west  tower. 
But  he  went  raving  mad — alack,  and  woe  is  me  ! 
— threw  himself  from  the  window,  and  all  to 
break  his  skull  on  the  stones  below.  Poor  young 
thing !  'twould  have  been  better  to  own  the 
marriage  and  live  in  peace — think  you  not  so, 
madam  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed  !"  answered  my  mother,  wiping 
her  eyes.  "  'Tis  a  woeful  tale !  But  I  see  not 
how  poor  Joyce  was  to  blame  in  all  this  ?" 

u  No,  nor  I ;  but  'twas  visited  on  her,  for  all 
that !"  returned  the  old  woman.  "  My  Lady  said 
that  Joyce  might  have  won  him  if  she  had  tried  ; 
and  that  she  drove  him  away,  and  what  not. 
Poor  simple  child  !  she  would  have  been  ready 
enough  to  wed  him,  methinks,  as  he  was  ever 
kind  to  her.  And  indeed,  madam,  it  would  be  a 
deed  of  charity  to  take  the  maid  out  of  her  hands, 
for  my  Lady  is  a  hard  woman.  And  poor  Mis- 
tress Joyce  would  do  well  enough  with  one  who 
was  kind  to  her.     She  is  ever  biddable  with  me." 

My  father  coming  in,  old  Dorothy  bade  us 
good-night  and  deoarted. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       273 

*  So  you  are  up  yet,  child !  You  should  be 
asleep,  after  your  journey !"  said  my  father, 
stooping  to  kiss  my  forehead.  "  Be  thankful  that 
you  have  home  and  friends,  my  maid,  and  are  no 
king's  ward,  to  be  sold  like  a  cow  to  the  highest 
bidder  |" 

"  Surely  a  cruel  and  hard  law  !"  said  my  mother. 
"  My  heart  aches  for  this  poor  maid  !"  and  she 
told  my  father  what  we  had  heard. 

"  Sir  John  is  very  earnest  for  me  to  take  the 
£irl  off  his  hands  in  lieu  of  his  debt,  or  a  part 
thereof,"  says  my  father.  "  'Twould  be  a  great 
charge  on  your  hands,  I  fear  ?" 

"Nay,  never  hesitate  for  that!"  answered  my 
mother,  cheerily.  "  Sure  it  would  be  a  blessed 
task :  but  can  you  afford  the  loss  and  charge  ?" 

"  Nay,  for  that  matter,  I  suppose  the  rental  of 
the  Copplestone  lands  is  worth  something,  and 
in  a  family  like  ours  the  keeping  and  education 
of  such  a  child  would  make  little  difference.  I 
am  not  like  to  see  either  principal  nor  interest, 
as  matters  now  stand,  for  the  landed  estate  is  en- 
tailed, and  there  is,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  no  ready 
money.  But  we  will  talk  farther  of  the  matter. 
Rosamond,  my  child,  get  you  to  bed,  and  God 
bless  you !" 

I  did  most  earnestly  give  thanks  that  night  for 
my  home  and  my  kind  parents  !  I  could  not  but 
think,  as  I  lay  down,  what  if  my  father  had  wed- 
ded such  a  woman  as  my  Lady  Carey  !  My  room 
was  a  little  turret  within  my  parents'  apartment, 


274.        Lady  Rosamond? s  Book  ;  or, 

and  I  fell  asrleep  at  the  last  to  the  sound  of  their 
talking. 

The  next  morning,  when  we  met  at  breakfast, 
Joyce  was  not  to  be  seen  ;  and  my  Lady  was 
clearly  in  a  very  bad  humor.  She  had  arrayed 
herself  in  much  antiquated  finery,  to  do  honor  to 
us  or  herself,  I  know  not  which.  It  was  evident 
there  had  been  a  storm  between  her  Lord  and 
herself,  from  her  red  eyes,  raised  color,  and  the 
snappish  remarks  she  directed  toward  him.  The 
house  looked  a  more  doleful  place  by  daylight 
than  it  had  done  in  the  evening.  The  hangings 
were  tattered  and  moth-eaten  ;  the  windows,  filled 
with  horn  or  oiled  paper,  with  here  and  there  a 
bit  of  stained  glass  left  to  tell  of  old  magnificence, 
were  dark  with  dirt,  and  let  in  the  wind  every- 
where ;  the  rushes  on  the  floor  looked  to  be  three 
months  old,  and  everything  seemed  forlorn  and 
wretched.  ,  Poor  Mistress  Warner  told  me  pri- 
vately that  her  bed  had  been  so  musty  and  so  full 
of  vermin  that  she  could  not  sleep  ;  and  that 
some  one  had  come  into  the  next  chamber  and 
had  there  so  cruelly  beaten  and  miscalled  a 
young  child  or  maid,  as  it  seemed,  that  she  had 
much  ado  not  to  interfere.  Hearing  this  news,  I 
was  not  surprised  not  to  see  poor  Joyce.  My 
mother,  seeing  the  state  of  the  case,  set  herself 
to  work  to  pacify  the  offended  lady  with  all  that 
courtly  skill  and  grace  whereof  she  is  so  com- 
pletely mistress  ;  telling  her  of  this  and  that 
lady    of  quality  (I  doubt    the    good    dame    did 


the  StanUm- Corbet  Chronicles.       2?j 

not  know  half  of  them,  but  that  made  no  differ- 
ence), giving  accounts  of  entertainments  at 
Court  and  at  the  cardinal's,  and  detailing  the 
news  of  the  cardinal's  probable  disgrace  and  the 
King's  divorce,  and  suit  to  Mistress  Anne.  My 
Lady  held  out  for  a  while,  but  presently  smoothed 
her  ruffled  plumage,  grew  gracious,  and  began  to 
talk  herself  of  the  days  she  spent  at  Court. 
Clearly  those  says  had  been  the  glory  of  her  life. 
We  sat  a  long  time,  but  at  last  she  excused  her- 
self, saying  that  she  must  look  into  the  kitchen 
and  see  what  the  maids  were  about,  and  so  went 
away  in  a  very  good  humor. 

"  Poor  woman  !"  said  my  mother  :  "  life  must 
indeed  be  dreary  to  her  here  !  She  clearly  cares 
for  naught  but  gayety  and  finery,  and  they  are  as 
much  out  of  her  reach  as  if  she  were  in 
purgatory  !" 

"  I  don't  believe  such  a  temper  as  hers  could  be 
very  happy  anywhere  !"  said  I. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  yet  my  heart  aches  for  her, 
poor  thing  !  The  change  would  be  severe  to  any 
one,  even  to  a  woman  who  had  many  resources  in 
herself,  and  how  much  more  to  one  who  knows 
no  delight  save  fine  clothes  and  fine  company!" 

"  Methinks  I  should  find  it  hard  to  be  con- 
tented here  !"  I  remarked  :  "lam  sure  I  should 
not  wish  to  sit  down  content  with  dirt  and  tatters 
and  an  ill-ordered  family.  I  could  find  some 
days'  pleasing  employment  in  mending  these 
hangings  and  cushions    and  spinning  new  linen 


2j6         Lady  Rosamond's  Booh  ;  Of, 

for  bed  and  tables,  and  airing  and  ordering  of 
chambers  and  the  like.  'Till  such  things  were 
done  I  don't  believe  time  would  hang  heavy  on 
my  hands !" 

"  You  are  a  born  housewife,  Rosamond  !"  said 
my  mother,  smiling;  "but  you  are  right  in  this. 
I  hope  indeed  you  would  never  sit  down  content 
with  any  misorder  or  discomfort  that  could  be 
remedied.  That  is  but  a  poor  kind  of  content. 
But,  my  child,  we  must  strive  to  keep  this  poor 
lady  in  a  good  humor,  for  the  sake  of  that  un- 
fortunate maiden.  Your  father  tells  me  he  is 
wholly  inclined  to  take  her  in  hand,  and  that  Sir 
John  is  more  than  willing  :  but  my  Lady  would 
fain  bestow  her  and  her  goods  on  a  convent, 
thinking  thereby  in  some  sort  to  benefit  the  soul 
of  her  unhappy  son.  I  believe  Sir  John  will  have 
his  own  way,  but  it  will  be  easier  for  all,  if  my 
Lady  can  be  brought  to  consent  too.  I  wonder 
where  the  child  is  ?" 

Mistress  Warner  here  told  my  mother  what  she 
had  overheard  last  night.  My  Lady  was  moved 
more  than  ordinary.  Anything  like  oppression 
or  injustice  always  rouses  her  anger. 

"  Nay  then,  is  the  woman  base  beyond  hope  !" 
said  she,  "  to  visit  her  anger  on  the  helpless  child  ? 
Surely  'twas  a  kind  providence  brought  us  to  the 
rescue  of  this  innocent." 

"  My  Lady,  one  of  the  women  of  the  house  told 
me  last  night  that  they  all,  save  old  Dorothy, 
believe  that  Mistress  Jo^ce  hath  the  evil  eye," 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       27 J 

said  Mistress  Warner.  "  They  say  she  overlooked 
the  young  master  to  his  destruction.  The  lady 
herself  tells  them  so.  Do  you  think  it  can  be 
true  ?" 

"  So  they  must  bring  their  superstitions  to  bear 
against  her,  as  well  !"  said  my  mother.  "  Nay, 
Warner,  the  evil  eye  is  the  eye  that  is  full  of  hate, 
and  covetousness,  and  uncharitableness.  I  see 
no  such  thing  in  this  poor  child's  glances,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  madam  ;  she  looked  harmless  enough,  for 
all  I  saw  !"  answered  the  bower- woman,  who  is  a 
kind-hearted  creature.  "  Even  if  she  had  fallen 
under  the  power  of  the  devil,  it  would  be  a  char- 
ity to  rescue  her,  and  methinks  one  who  fears 
God  has  no  need  to  fear  any  one  less  than  He." 

"  Spoke  like  a  Christian  woman !"  said  my 
mother,  and  then  the  conversation  was  ended  by 
the  return  of  my  Lady. 

Well,  we  stayed  that  day  and  that  night,  and 
in  the  afternoon  the  matter  was  concluded  ;  and 
Sir  John,  calling  for  Joyce,  formally  surrendered 
her  to  my  father's  keeping. 

"  And  a  good  riddance,  I'm  sure !"  quoth  my 
Lady,  with  her  hard,  affected  laugh.  "  I  wish 
Sir  Stephen  joy  of  his  bargain  !  I  am  only  too 
glad  to  get  rid  of  her,  the  ungrateful  witch  i" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Sarah  !"  said  Sir  John. 
"  See  that  the  child's  things  are  got  together. 
Where  are  the  gold  chain  and  the  string  of  pearls 
I  gave  into  your  keeping  ?  Bring  them  hither, 
and  give  them  over  to  Sir  Stephen  !" 


218        Lady  Rosamond's  Book:  or. 

11  Lack-a-daisy,  Sir  John,  how  should  I  know?" 
answered  my  Lady,  reddening  and  casting  any- 
thing but  a  friendly  glance  at  her  husband.  "  1 
have  not  seen  the  trumpery  for  ages." 

"  You  will  find  them,  unless  you  want  me  to 
And  them  for  you  !"  said  the  knight,  in  a  per- 
emptory voice.  "  You  had  them  in  your  cabinet 
among  your  own  gew-gaws,  I  know,  for  I  saw 
them.     Go  and  fetch  them  here." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Sir  John  !  So  that  is  the  way 
you  treat  your  wife,  that  brought  you  all  you  had, 
and  whose  wealth  you  have  wasted,  and  that  be- 
fore strangers !  Alas,  the  day  that  ever  I  saw 
you  !"  And  with  that  she  began-  to  weep  and 
cry  aloud,  and  then  to  scream,  till  she  fell  into  a 
fit  of  the  mother. 

Her  husband,  with  an  impatient  "Here,  women, 
see  to  your  mistress  !"  strode  out  of  the  hall  and 
returned  presently  with  the  jewels — a  fine  heavy 
gold  chain  and  a  necklace  of  fair  large  pearls. 

"  There,  take  her  away  out  of  sight  !"  said  he, 
thrusting  the  things  into  my  mother's  hands. 
"Take  her  away,  and  keep  her  by  you  this  night. 
Maybe  I  have  not  done  right  by  her.  I  wanted 
to  wed  her  to  my  son,  and  do  well  by  her,  but 
they  would  none  of  each  other — I  dare  say  'twas 
not  her  fault,  after  all,  poor  wench  !  There, 
there — go,  child,  go  !"  for  at  the  first  kind  word 
Joyce  was  at  his  feet  and  kissing  his  hand,  with 
tears  and  sobs.  "  Go  with  thy  new  friends,  be  a 
dutiful  maid,   and  take  my  blessing  with  thee, 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       279 

if  the  blessing  of  such  a  wretch  be  worth  any- 
thing." 

We  saw  no  more  of  my  Lady.  In  obedience  to 
Sir  John's  hint,  my  mother  kept  Joyce  at  her  side 
the  rest  of  the  day,  and  she  shared  my  bed  at 
night.  She  seemed  unable  to  believe  in  her  own 
deliverance,  and  started  at  every  sound. 

"She  came  to  my  room  last  night  and  beat 
me — oh,  so  cruelly  !"  the  poor  thing  whispered 
to  me,  after  we  were  in  bed,  "  and  that  was  not 
so  bad  as  her  words.  She  said  I  was  a  witch,  and 
had  bewitched  her  son  to  his  death,  and  that  she 
would  have  me  burned  !  Your  good  father  wont 
let  them  burn  me,  will  he,  Mistress  Rosamond  ? 
X  would  not  so  much  mind  dying,  but  it  would  be 
dreadful  to  be  burned  alive  !" 

J  soothed  her  and  told  her  she  would  be  safe 
under  my  father  and  mother's  care,  and  if  she 
would  be  a  good  and  obedient  maid,  she  might 
be  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  good  !"  she  said,  simply  ;  "  but 
I  am  so  ignorant !  I  have  had  no  learning.  I 
hardly  know  anything.  Mistress  Earle  taught 
me  to  work,  and  spin,  and  say  my  prayers,  but  I 
have  forgot  them  all  now.  Father  Joe,  our  chap- 
lain, used  to  teach  me  a  prayer  now  and  then, 
when  he  was  sober,  and  he  was  kind  to  me  ;  but 
he  died  from  drinking  strong  ale.  And  then 
Walter  died.  Walter  was  always  good — and  I 
had  no  friend  save  poor  old  Dorothy." 

I  told  her  we  would  teach  her,  and  bade  her 


23 o  Lady  Rosamond 's  Book;  of, 

try  to  sleep,  that  she  might  be  ready  to  travel  in 
the  morning  ;  and  so  with  much  ado  got  her  quiet. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  left  the  hall,  seeing 
none  of  the  family  save  Dorothy  and  the  steward 

"Now  I  can  breathe  again  !"  said  my  father, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  when  we  were  once  out 
on  the  open  moors.  Joyce  was  on  a  pillion  behind 
Cousin  Joslyn,  holding  on  very  tight,  and  every 
now  and  then  looking  round  with  a  scared  face,  as 
though  expecting  pursuit.  She  grew  easier  the 
farther  we  went,  and  when  we  were  quite  out  of 
sight  of  the  house,  she  too  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  seemed  as  if  she  were  more  at  ease. 

We  rode  all  day,  across  all  but  pathless  wastes, 
seeing  hardly  a  living  thing  save  a  few  forlorn 
sheep  tended  by  a  wild,  wolfish-looking  dog  and 
a  boy  not  less  wild  than  he.  Toward  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon,  however,  we  came  to  a  hamlet, 
where  the  cottages  were  more  decent  than  any 
we  had  seen  since  leaving  home  ;  some  of  them 
having  little  gardens,  with  parsnips  and  onions, 
and  a  few  pot-herbs,  and  now  and  then  some 
hardy  flowers.  All  the  people  came  to  the  door  at 
sight  of  our  cavalcade,  and  there  were  many  rev- 
erences and  smiles  from  men  and  women.  They 
were  a  large,  sturdy,  wild-looking  race,  with  black 
curly  hair  and  black  eyes. 

"  Now  we  are  on  your  lands,  my  dear  cousin," 
said  Cousin  Joslyn,  turning  to  me.  "  This  is  the 
village  of  Tremadoc,  and  these  be  your  tenants 
and  cottagers." 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       2S1 

1  confess  I  was  so  silly  at  first  as  to  feel  a  sense 
of  prideful  elation  at  the  thought  that  I  was  in 
some  sort  mistress  of  these  people  and  owner  of 
the  lands  whereon  I  stood :  but  my  second 
thought,  I  trust,  was  a  better  one,  and  I  inwardly 
breathed  a  prayer  that  in  so  far  as  I  had  special 
duties  toward  these  good  folks,  I  might  have 
grace  to  fulfil  them. 

" Truly  a  fine-looking  people!"  said  my 
mother  ;  "  and  the  cottages  are  far  better  than  I 
expected  to  see  in  these  remote  parts." 

"  That  is  mostly  my  late  mistress'  doing,"  re- 
marked Master  Penrose.  "  She  could  abide 
naught  like  sluttishness,  or  waste,  or  unthrift,  and 
made  constant  war  on  them.  Then  we  have  an 
excellent  parish  priest — no  drunken  Sir  John,  like 
him  down  at  the  place  we  left  this  morning  but  a 
good  and  devout  man,  whose  life  is  as  pure  as  his 
prayers.  Sir  Stephen,  there  stands  an  old  play- 
mate of  yours  and  mine — old  Jasper,  who  helped 
us  to  take  the  falcons  on  the  cliff." 

My  father  must  needs  stop  to  see  his  ancient 
friend,  and  we  soon  had  a  crowd  about  us,  all  nat- 
urally eager  to  see  their  new  lady  and  their  old 
friend  Master  Joslyn.  But  they  were  no  ways 
rude  or  prying,  and  when  we  rode  away.,  followed 
us  with  many  good  wishes  and  welcomes,  or  so 
my  cousin  said,  for  they  almost  all  speak  the 
Cornish  tongue,  which,  of  course,  is  so  much 
Greek  to  me. 

Our  road,  now  a  fairly  good  one,  led  us  away 


2S2        Lady  Rosamond* s  Book/  or, 

from  the  village,  and  skirted  a  long  and  high  hill, 
near  the  top  of  which  was  perched  the  church, 
with  a  very  high  gray  tower. 

"  What  an  odd  place  for  the  church !"  says 
Harry. 

"  Yes,  they  say  the  devil  had  a  hand  in  the 
building  of  many  of  our  Cornish  churches,  and  I 
don't  wonder,"  answered  Cousin  Joslyn :  "  they 
are  put  in  such  inaccessible  places.  In  the  winter 
storms  'tis  all  but  impossible  for  the  village  folk 
to  reach  this  one,  and  my  Lady  had  a  scheme 
for  erecting  a  chapel  down  in  the  hamlet  yonder, 
but  she  never  carried  it  out." 

We  went  on  for  nearly  another  mile,  rising 
ever  higher,  though  by  somewhat  slow  gradations, 
till  we  reached  all  at  once  the  top  of  the  ridge. 
Then  what  a  view  burst  upon  us  !  There  was 
the  sea  standing  up  like  a  blue  wall,  so  high  were 
we  above  it,  the  land  falling  off  to  our  right  in  a 
sheer  precipice,  at  the  foot  of  which  were  jagged 
rocks,  among  which  the  waves  broke  wildly, 
though  it  was  a  clear,  calm  day.  In  front  of  us 
opened  a  lovely  valley — what  we  in  our  parts 
call  a  coombe — filled  with  woods,  among  which 
roared  a  brawling  stream,  which  tumbled  into 
the  glen  at  the  upper  end  in  a  fine  cataract,  of 
which  we  could  catch  a  glimpse.  Nestling  in 
the  mouth  of  this  glen,  with  a  south-western  ex- 
posure, lay  the  gray  old  house  of  Tremadoc,  sur- 
rounded with  great  nut  trees,  and  one  huge  pile 
of  verdure,   which    Cousin    Joslyn    said   was    a 


Tlie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       28 j 

Spanish    chestnut.      It  had  a  homelike  look   to 
mine  eyes  from  the  first. 

"The  old  house  looks  just  the  same," quoth  my 
father  :  "  I  could  expect  to  find  my  aunt  seated 
in  her  parlor,  with  her  cat  and  its  kitlings  in  a 
basket  by  her  side,  just  as  I  left  them  thirty  years 
agone." 

"  You  will  find  the  cat  and  the  kitlings,  though 
not  quite  the  same  that  you  left,"  answered 
Cousin  Joslyn  :  "  but  the  house  can  never  be  the 
same  to  me  again,  now  that  my  dear  old  friend 
and  mistress  is  gone !  But  here  we  are.  Wel- 
come home  to  your  own  house,  my  fair  Cousin 
Rosamond  !  Master  Toby,  you  remember  my 
Cousin  Stephen  ;  and  this  is  his  Lady,  and  this  is 
Mistress  Rosamond,  your  new  lady  and  mistress." 

Master  Toby  the  steward,  bent  low  to  each  of 
us,  specially  to  my  unworthy  self,  and  then  came 
Mistress  Grace,  and  the  men  and  the  maids,  all 
gathered  in  the  hall  to  meet  us.  I  don't  know 
how  I  acquitted  myself,  but  I  know  I  never  felt 
so  young  and  insignificant  in  all  my  life.  Mis- 
tress Grace  marshalled  us  all  to  our  rooms.  ] 
was  to  have  my  aunt's,  by  her  special  direction, 
while  my  father  and  mother,  as  was  fitting,  had 
the  room  of  state.  Dame  Grace  says  some  king 
once  slept  there,  but  she  can't  tell  who  it  was. 
She  thinks  'twas  either  his  Majesty  Henry  Sixth 
or  King  Alfred.  I  could  not  but  smile,  but 
Cousin  Joslyn  tells  me,  that  though  the  unhappy 
Henry  did  really  pass  a  night  under  this  roof, 


284        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

there  is  a  tradition  that  some  sort  of  house  stood 
here  in  Alfred's  time,  and  that  the  royal  fugitive 
was  really  here  in  some  of  his  many  wanderings. 
A  part  of  the  house  is  as  old  as  the  time  oi 
Edward  the  Confessor,  and  with  its  heavy,  thick 
walls,  low  arches,  and  general  massive  roughness, 
makes  me  think  of  our  shrine  of  St.  Ethelburga, 
which  I  shall  never  see  again. 

[  That  was  a  mistake  of  mine.  I  saw  all  I  de- 
sired and  more  of  that  famous  shrine  afterward.] 

We  have  now  been  here  four  days,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  feel  at  home.  I  have  made  friends 
with  the  old  cat,  who  after  considering  me  a 
while,  went  off  and  returned  with  a  mouse,  which 
mouse  she  deposited  in  my  lap  with  an  air  of 
great  satisfaction.  Cousin  Joslyn  says  it  was  a 
tender  of  service.  I  praised  the  old  cat  and 
took  the  mouse  in  my  hand,  and  then  delivered 
it  over  to  the  kits,  at  which  their  mother  seemed 
quite  satisfied.  'Twas  an  odd,  but  methought  a 
mighty  pretty  trick  of  the  poor  brute,  and  I 
could  see  that  Mistress  Grace  took  it  for  a  good 
omen. 

I  think  Joyce  is,  however,  the  happiest  of  any 
one.  As  I  said,  we  have  arrayed  her  anew  in  a 
dress  something  suited  to  her  quality,  and  with 
her  tangled  locks  smoothed  and  covered,  her  face 
and  hands  washed,  and  her  eyes  growing  less  like 
a  scared  and  beaten  hound's,  she  is  really  a  lovely 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       285 

child.  She  is  sixteen  years  old,  but  is  so  small 
and  slight  she  might  easily  pass  for  twelve,  which 
my  mother  says  is  all  the  better,  as  she  is  so 
backward  in  her  education.  She  has  never 
learned  to  read,  and  has  forgotten  all  she  ever 
knew  about  her  religion,  save  a  Hail  Mary  and  a 
fragment  of  her  paternoster,  which  she  says  the 
chaplain  at  the  hall  taught  her.  Finding  my  late 
aunt's  spindle  and  distaff  lying  in  my  room,  she 
begged  that  she  might  try  to  spin,  saying  that 
she  had  once  learned  of  Mistress  Earle,  and  after 
some  trials,  in  which  she  showed  great  patience, 
she  had  the  spindle  dancing  merrily  on  the  floor, 
and  drew  out  a  very  smooth  even  thread.  She  has 
asked  me  to  teach  her  to  read,  and  I  am  going  to 
try.  Untaught  as  she  is  in  everything  that  it 
behooves  a  young  lady  to  know,  even  in  such 
every-day  matters  as  eating  and  sitting  properly, 
she  is  attentive  to  the  slightest  hint  of  my  mo- 
ther or  Mistress  Warner,  who  has  taken  the  poor 
orphan  into  her  kind  heart  at  once,  and  is  laying 
out  great  plans  for  teaching  her  white-seam,  cut- 
work,  and  lace-making.  Warner  has  the  sense 
and  wisdom  to  show  great  deference  to  Mistress 
Grace,  as  being  so  many  years  the  elder,  and  they 
get  on  well  together  ;  and  indeed  Mistress  War- 
ner is  a  good  Christian  woman,  as  my  mother 
says. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


p@a^%|HIS   morning,  coming  into 

bSpI  found  Joyce  quite  in   ecstacies 


July  30. 
the  hall,  I 
over  a 
pair  of  young  choughs  that  Harry  had 
got  for  her  at  the  risk  of  his  neck. 
Harry,  who  is  usually  very  shy  of  strange  young 
ladies,  takes  wonderfully  to  Joyce.  She  on  her 
part  takes  to  everybody,  and  is  growing  so  full 
of  spirits  that  mother  now  and  then  has  to  check 
her  a  little.  She  is  very  good  in  general,  I  must 
say,  though  she  now  and  then  shows  her  want  of 
training  in  a  little  outburst  oi  temper,  and  yes- 
terday was  so  rude  to  Grace  that  mother  ordered 
her  to  beg  pardon,  and  on  her  refusal  sent  her  to 
her  room.  Going  thither  some  hour  or  two  after, 
I  found  her  drowned  in  tears,  because  she  had 
offended  my  mother. 

44  You  can  easily  make  matters  right,"  said  I  : 
44  go  and  beg  my  mother's  pardon  and  Grace's 
also,  and  all  will  be  well." 

14  If  it  were  anything  but  that,"  said  she.     "  But 
to  beg  pardon  of  a  servant  !" 
J  could  hardly  control  m'y  smiles,  remembering 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       287 

the  state  wherein  we  had  found  her  not  two 
weeks  agone,  but  I  said  gravely  : 

"As  to  that,  Joyce,  Grace's  father  was  as  good 
as  your  own,  and  if  he  had  been  a  hind,  'twould 
make  no  odds.  Tis  obedience  my  mother  re- 
quires, and  she  is  right.  Besides,  you  have  no 
right  to  despise  servants.  Don't  you  know  that 
our  Lord  Himself  came  not  to  be  ministered  to 
but  to  minister,  and  He  says  Himself,  '  if  any 
man  will  be  great  among  you,  let  him  be  your 
servant.'  Let  me  read  you  something  about  that 
in  a  book  that  tells  all  about  Him."  So  I  fetched 
my  Testament  and  read  to  her  about  our  Lord's 
washing  the  apostles'  feet.  She  was  impressed, 
I  could  see,  but  her  pride  rose. 

11  If  it  were  anything  else,"  she  said.  "  I  would 
fast  all  day,  or  lie  on  the  floor,  or" — 

"  Or  do  anything  else  that  you  wished  to  do, 
but  not  your  plain  duty,"  said  I,  interrupting,  for 
I  began  to  be  vexed  with  her.  "  What  docs  my 
mother  care  for  your  fastings,  or  lying  on  the 
floor  ?  Or  what  boots  all-  these  tears,  so  long  as 
you  are  proud,  and  wilful,  and  disobedient  to  the 
friend  who  has  rescued  you  from  misery— perhaps 
from  such  a  dreadful  death  as  my  Lady  Carey 
threatened  you  with  ?  One  simple,  honest  act  of 
obedience  is  worth  all  the  tears,  and  fastings, 
and  penances  in  the  world."  And  with  that  I 
left  her.  I  think  my  words  had  their  effect,  for 
an  hour  after  she  came  weeping  to  my  mother, 
and  knelt  by  her  very  humbly,  saying  that  she 


288       Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

had  begged  Grace's  pardon  and  received  it.  My 
mother,  on  that,  gave  the  child  her  hand  to  kiss, 
and  bade  her  bring  her  work  and  sit  on  the  stool 
beside  her.  So  all  was  sunshine  once  more,  and  I 
think  the  lesson  has  done  Joyce  good. 

I  have  been  making  acquaintance  with  the 
village  folk,  specially  the  women  and  children. 
They  are  very  cordial  to  me,  and  make  much 
of  me  wherever  I  go,  but  I  can  understand  very 
little  unless  I  have  Grace  or  Cousin  Joslyn  as  in- 
terpreter. I  am  trying  to  learn  something  of 
their  language.  Some  of  the  younger  people, 
and  most  of  our  own  servants  speak  English,  after 
a  sort,  but  they  are  all  much  delighted  whenever 
I  muster  confidence. enough  to  air  my  few  Cornish 
phrases.  They  seem  a  good,  kindly,  simple- 
minded  set,  very  fond  of  Cousin  Joslyn,  who  is 
their  physician  and  counsellor  in  all  their  trouble, 
looking  up  to  the  priest  with  religious  awe,  and 
having  as  few  vices  as  one  could  reasonably  ex- 
pect. They  seem  fond  of  the  memory  of  their 
old  Lady,  though  one .of  the  younger  women 
whom  I  visited  without  Grace,  and  who  speaks 
English  fairly,  told  me  her  Lady  was  "  mortal 
tiresome  and  meddlesome  about  cleaning  and 
rearing  of  babies."  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  mortal 
tiresome,  but  if  ever  I  come  here  to  live  'tis  a 
wonder  if  I  don't  have  my  say  about  the  rearing 
of  these  same  babes.  I  have  already  talked  with 
Cousin  Joslyn  and  Father  Paul  about  a  plan  for  a 
dame  school,  where  at  hast  the  maidens  might 


TTie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       2S9 

be  taught  the  use  of  their  fingers,  in  spinning, 
knitting,  and  mending  of  their  clothes.  Mistress 
Warner  demurs  at  the  knitting,  which  she  says 
is  work  for  ladies,  like  embroidery  and  cut-work, 
and  not  for  cottage  maids.  But  since  it  makes 
good  warm  hosen,  I  see  not  why  they  should  not 
learn  it  as  well  as  spinning. 

Our  priest,  Father  Paul,  as  he  likes  to  be  called, 
instead  of  Sir  Paul,  is  one  of  an  hundred.  I 
never  saw  a  better,  purer  face  than  his,  though 
'tis  wonderful  thin  and  worn,  and  by  times  full  of 
care.  He  preaches  every  Sunday  to  the  people, 
and  repeats  whole  chapters  of  the  Gospels  and 
Epistles.  Last  Sunday  'twas  that  same  which 
the  Bishop  gave  us  in  the  convent,  upon  charity, 
though  I  did  not  know  then  whence  it  came. 
(Tis  strange  how  far  away  seem  those  old  con- 
vent days.  I  can  hardly  think  I  am  the  same 
maid  who  was  content  to  spend  hours  over  a  cut- 
work  cope,  and  never  had  a  thought  beyond  what 
iny  superiors  told  me,  or  a  doubt  but  that  all  our 
endless  litanies  to  the  Saints  and  our  Lady  were 
true  prayers.  But  this  is  by  the  way.)  I  am 
sure  Father  Paul  reads  the  Scriptures  a  great 
deal,  for  he  is  always  repeating  them  to  the 
people,  as  I  said,  and  makes  the  most  clear  and 
practical  applications  of  them  to  the  common 
matters  of  every-day  life. 

Then  he  visits  a  great  deal  from  house  to 
house,  specially  where  there  is  sickness  or  any 
trouble,  and  he  has  composed  many  quarrels,  to 


2go  Lady  Rosamond^   Book;  or, 

which  these  Cornish  folk  are  a  good  deal  given. 
He  has  made  acquaintance  with  many  of  the  wild 
moormen,  and  even  persuaded  some  of  them  to 
come  to  the  church  now  and  then,  to  be  wedded, 
and  to  have  their  babes  christened.  I  saw  one 
of  these  weddings  one  day,  and  gave  the  bride  a 
gay  kerchief,  which  I  had  put  in  my  pocket  for 
some  one  in  the  village.  The  whole  party  were 
greatly  pleased,  and  this  morning  the  old  mother 
of  the  bride  came  and  brought  me  a  great  basket 
of  whortleberries,  the  finest  I  ever  saw.  She 
would  have  no  pay,  so  I  gave  her  a  pair  of  scis- 
sors and  some  needles,  and  Mistress  Grace  added 
what  the  poor  thing  seemed  to  value  more  than 
anything,  a  great  loaf  of  brown  wheaten  bread. 
She  gave  us  to  understand  that  her  child  (not 
the  bride,  but  another)  was  very  ill,  and  could 
eat  little,  but  would  like  the  bread.  Thereupon 
Grace,  always  compassionate,  added  a  pot  of 
honey,  and  a  bottle  of  some  cordial  medicine  to 
her  gift,  and  the  poor  woman  went  away  very 
happy. 

'Tis  strange  with  what  a  mixture  of  awe  and 
contempt  the  servants  and  villagers  regard  these 
wild  folk,  who  do  indeed  seem  of  another  race 
than  themselves.  Cousin  Joslyn  thinks  the 
moor  folk  are  remnants  of  the  first  race  who 
inhabited  the  country.  I  wish  something  might 
be  done  for  them.  But  indeed  I  might  say  the 
same  for  the  whole  land,  not  only  of  Cornwall, 
but  of   our  own   Devon,   and  of  all  England, 


77ie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       291 

Under  what  a  worse  than  Egyptian  darkness  it 
lies  !  But  one  can  see  the  glimmering  of  dawn, 
and  here  and  there  a  mountain  top  touched  by 
the  sun ;  and  I  cannot  help  hoping  that  better 
days  are  at  hand.  My  mother,  however,  is  not 
sanguine  —  that  is,  she  believes  the  truth  will 
prevail,  but  only  after  long  waiting,  and  many 
hard,  and  it  may  be  bloody  struggles.  She  has 
known  the  King  from  childhood,  and  she  says  she 
believes  if  he  puts  down  the  power  of  the  Pope  in 
this  country  'twill  be  only  to  set  himself  in  his 
place.  But  these  are  too  high  and  dangerous 
matters  for  me. 


■W' 


rff  -or 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


Aug.  j. 
AD  news !  A  courier  came  from  home 
last  night  with  the  mournful  tidings 
that  my  Lord's  little  son  seems  to  be 
failing  fast,  and  begging  us  to  hurry 
home  as  quickly  as  possible,  that  they  may  have 
the  benefit  of  my  mother's  counsel.  Alas, 
poor  little  boy  !  I  can  see  that  my  mother  has 
little  hope  of  finding  him  alive,  from  the  account 
which  Master  Ellenwood  writes  of  his  state. 
Jasper  Ellenwood,  who  hath  been  bred  a  physi- 
cian in  the  best  Dutch  and  Paris  schools,  is  at 
the  Court  night  and  day,  but  he  gives  little  en- 
couragement. We  leave  to-morrow.  Joyce  is 
quite  heart-broken  at  leaving  Mistress  Grace, 
to  whom,  since  their  quarrel,  she  hath  greatly 
attached  herself,  and  bestows  some  of  her  tears 
alsc*upon  a  beautiful  young  Spanish  cat  *  which 
Cousin  Joslyn  hath  bestowed  on  her.  Father  says 
she  may  take  it  home  if  she  can  get  one  of  the 
men  to  carry  it.  The  choughs,  her  other  pets, 
she  leaves  with  Cousin  Joslyn  to  be  taught  to 
speak. 


*  What  we  now  call  a  tortoise-shell— then  «■  mighty  rarity. — D.  C. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


v 


Aug.  S. 
ERE  we  arc  at  home  again,  safe  and 
sound,  having  made  the  journey  in  less 
than  three  days.  The  poor  babe  is 
alive,  and  that  is  all.  My  Lady  is  nice 
a  ghost,  so  pale,  wasted  and  woe-begone  ;  but 
keeps  up  for  the  sake  of  her  husband  and  child. 
I  see  my  mother  has  great  fears  for  her. 

Aug.  12. 
My  mother  being  so  much  at  the  great  house, 
Joyce  naturally  falls  to  me.  She  has  been  put  to 
sleep  in  the  little  green  room  which  opens  into 
mine,  and  sits  with  me  every  morning  doing  her 
task  in  the  hornbook  and  in  sewing  and  spinning. 
She  takes  to  the  use  of  her  fingers  readily  enough, 
but  is  sadly  dull  at  her  book.  Master  Elleriwood, 
whom  I  consulted,  advised  me  to  give  her  pen 
and  ink  and  let  her  imitate  the  letters,  and  I 
think  we  shall  get  on  better.  She  is  so  good 
and  tries  so  hard,  that  I  cannot  for  very  shame 
get  out  of  patience  with  her.  In  the  afternoon 
we  take  long  walks  and  rides  with  Master  Ellen- 


<?<?/        Lady  Rosamond 's  Book;  or, 

wood  or  Harry  for  escort,  or  go  to  see  the  sick 
folk  in  the  village. 

The  babe  still  lingers,  but  we  have  no  hope  of 
his  life.  My  Lord  is  like  one  distracted,  but 
more  I  think  for  the  mother  than  the  child.  He 
depends  for  everything  on  Richard,  and  can 
hardly  bear  to  have  him  out  of  sight  ;  so  we  see 
little  of  Dick.  He  will  be  the  next  heir  if  this 
poor  boy  dies,  unless  there  are  others.  The  prior 
said  as  much  to  him  the  other  day,  adding  "  that 
'twas  an  ill  wind,"  etc.,  (a  fine  speech  for  a 
Churchman).  My  father  said  Richard's  brow 
gr<.w  black,  but  he  answered  courteously : 

"  If  my  prayers  could  keep  the  child  alive,  my 
reverend  Father,  he  would  live  to  be  as  old  as 
Abraham." 

Whereat  my  father  said  the  prior  had  the  grace 
to  look  ashamed.  Poor  old  man,  he  himself  cares 
for  naught  but  money,  and  I  suppose  he  can't 
understand  how  any  one  can  be  really  disin- 
terested. 

I  must  not  forget  to  say  that  the  Spanish 
kitling  made  the  journey  in  the  pocket  of  Harry's 
horseman's  coat,  sorely  discomposed  at  times  by 
the  shaking,  and  wailing  pitifully,  but  on  the 
whole  behaving  very  well.  We  stopped  for  one 
night  we  were  on  the  road  at  the  same  yoeman's 
house  as  before,  and  had  the  same  hearty  wel- 
come. We  heard  that  they  found  the  old  gaffer 
dead  in  his  bed  the  next  day  but  one  after  our 
visit.     The  dame  said  the  words  he  had  repeated 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       2$J 

to  us  were  constantly  on  his  lips  the  last  day  of 
his  life,  and  when  she  put  him  to  bed  he  asked 
her  "  when  that  young  lady  would  come  again  ?" 
and  left  his  blessing  for  me  :  and  after  she  left 
him  she  heard  him  murmuring  over  and  over — 
"everlasting  life  —  everlasting  life."  Truly  a 
happy  end. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 


Aug.  18. 

HE  dear  babe  is  gone — he  died  on  the 
morning  of  the  thirteenth,  and  is  buried 
in  the  churchyard  of  the  Priory  Church, 
where  both  families  have  a  right.  My 
Lady  tries  to  keep  up,  but  grows  more  feeble 
every  day.  My  Lord  is  with  her  every  moment, 
Richard  taking  all  cares  off  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


Aug-.  20. 
HIS  morning  my  father  and  mother 
called  me  to  a  conference.  I  knew  my 
Lord  had  been  with  them,  and  went 
thinking  of  nothing  more  important  then 
perhaps  that  my  Lady  desired  me  to  stay  with 
her  ;  but  saw  at  once  by  their  faces  that  there 
was  more  in  the  matter  than  that.  My  mother 
bade  me  to  a  seat  beside  her,  and  then  my 
father  said : 

"  Rosamond,  here  has  been  my  Lord  proposing 
— asking" — then  turning  to  my  mother  :  "  Madam, 
do  you  be  spokesman — I  am  a  fool,  and  that  is 
the  whole  ont !" 

u  My  Lord  has  been  proposing  a  match  for  you, 
daughter,  and  your  father  wishes  to  know  your 
mind  before  giving  him  an  answer.  Richard 
Stanton  wishes  to  make  you  his  wife,  and  my 
Lord  also  desires  the  match." 

"  You  see,  Dick  is  the  next  in  succession,  and  my 
Lady  is  very  frail,"  added  my  father:  "so  'tis 
proper  and  right  that  Dick  should  marry.  It 
seems,  however,  that  Master  Dick  will  have  no- 


2g8         Lady  Rosamojid's  Booh  ;  of, 

body  but  his  country  cousin,  after  all  the  fair 
ladies  he  has  seen  at  court  and  abroad,  and  my 
Lord  thinks  he  could  not  do  better." 

I  was  covered  with  confusion,  and  could  hardly 
look  up. 

"  Well,  what  say  you,  chick  ?"  asked  my  fa- 
ther. "  Wilt  wed  Dick  Stanton,  and  live  here  at 
home  ?  You  might  doubtless  make  a  richer  and 
greater  match,  for  even  if  my  Lady  should  not 
recover,  my  Lord  is  of  an  age  to  marry  again,  and 
with  my  aunt's  estate  for  a  portion,  you  will  not 
go  begging.  But  we  all  know  and  like  Dick,  who 
is  good  and  true  as  the  day,  and  not  so  badly 
portioned  either  for  a  younger  son  ;  besides  that 
my  Lord  will  give  him  the  estate  of  Coombe  Ash- 
ton,  if  he  weds  to  his  liking.  So  what  say  you, 
daughter,  for  all  rests  with  you  ?  I  will  wed  no 
child  of  mine  against  her  will." 

I  managed  to  murmur  that  I  had  no  wish  to  op- 
pose the  will  of  my  parents  and  my  kinsman  ; 
whereat  my  mother  bent  down  and  kissed  my 
brow,  saying  with  a  little  gentle  mischief : 

"  See  you,  Sir  Stephen,  what  a  dutiful  child  we 
have  here  !" 

"Aye,  well  broke,  as  old  Job's  horse,  which 
would  always  go  well  on  the  road  homeward," 
said  my  father,  smiling :  "  but  what  think  you 
my  Lady  Abbess  will  say,  my  Rose  ?" 

''I  fear  she  will  be  grieved,"  I  answered  ;  "but 
I  could  not  have  returned  to  her,  at  any  rate. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       299 

Sister  Catherine  will  say  it  is  just  what  she 
always  expected  !" 

I  dare  say  she  would  fly  at  the  chance  herself, 
the  old  cat  !"  said  my  father.  "  Well,  Rosamond, 
I  am  heartily  glad  your  choice  jumps  so  well 
with  ours  in  this  matter,  for  though  I  would  have 
preferred  Dick  above  many  a  richer  and  greater 
suitor,  I  would  never  wed  a  child  of  mine  against 
her  will.  I  saw  enough  of  that  in  mine  own 
mother's  case,  who  lived  and  died  a  broken-hearted 
woman  ;  aye,  and  that  though  my  father  would 
have  coined  his  very  heart's  blood  to  save  her.  She 
was  a  model  of  wifely  duty  and  reverence  too, 
poor  Lady,  but  the  one  thing  my  father  longed 
for  that  she  could  never  give.  Well,  well  !  God 
bless  thee,  child,  with  all  my  heart :  thou  hast 
ever  been  a  dutiful  daughter  to  me  and  to  her 
that  is  gone.  Well,  I  must  go  see  my  Lord  and 
Dick,  who  is  pacing  the  maze  like  a  caged  lion. 
There  will  be  need  of  a  dispensation,  and  I  know 
not  what,  beside  the  settlements  for  our  heiress 
here.  What  think  you,  chick  ?  Does  Dick  seek 
you  for  the  sake  of  Aunt  Rosamond's  acres  and 
woods  ?" 

"Not  lie  !"  answered  my  mother  for  me.  "  One 
must  have  been  an  owl  indeed  not  to  see  how 
matters  were  long  before  Rosamond  had  any  title 
to  acres  or  woods.  I  had  a  shrewd  guess  at  it  be- 
fore ever  I  saw  Rosamond  herself,  when  our  young 
squire  used  to  linger  beside  me  in  London  to  talk 
of  his    cousin,  when    others   were    dancing.     I 


joo        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or> 

thought  then  it  would  be  a  shame  for  the  cloister 
to  part  two  true  lovers." 

I  could  not  but  rejoice  in  my  heart  when  I 
heard  this,  that  Richard  had  preferred  talking  ot 
me,  even  when  his  love  must  have  been  well  nigh 
hopeless,  to  dancing  with  those  court  ladies  of 
whom  Mistress  Anne  told  me.  I  never  did  be- 
lieve a  word  she  said,  the  treacherous  viper ! 

All  this  chanced  only  this  very  morning,  and  al- 
ready it  seems  ages  agone.  Dick  and  I  have  had  a 
long  talk  together  down  at  the  spring,  where  we 
used  to  have  so  many.  How  that  place  used  to 
haunt  my  dreams  in  the  convent !  Father  Fabian 
6aid  'twas  a  temptation  of  the  devil,  and  I  never 
would  let  my  mind  dwell  on  it  in  the  day-time ; 
but  I  could  not  hinder  its  coming  back  at  night. 
As  we  sat  on  our  old  moss-grown  seat  by  the 
clear  well,  we  saw  a  chaffinch — perhaps  the  very 
one  Dick  showed  me  on  the  eve  of  Alice's  mar- 
riage— flying  in  and  out  among  the  bushes  with 
its  young  brood.  I  took  it  for  a  good  omen.  As 
we  sat  there,  gazing  down  into  the  spring,  a 
shadow  fell  on  us,  and  looking  up,  there  was 
Patience,  my  mother's  bower-woman. 

"  So  it  has  come  to  this,  even  as  I  said  1"  said 
she,  with  no  form  of  greeting. 

"  Not  quite !"  I  answered.  "  You  said  my 
mother  would  wed  me  with  a  kinsman  of  her 
own." 

"So  it  has  come  to  this !"  she  repeated  again, 
paying  no  heed    to  my  words.     "You,  Mistress 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       jot 

Rosamond,  who  were  consecrated  before  you 
were  born,  and  wore  the  veil  in  your  very  cradle 
— you  are  returned  to  the  world,  even  as  your 
mother  did  before  you  !"  Then  changing  her 
tone,  and  falling  on  her  knees  at  my  feet:  "Oh, 
Mistress  Rosamond,  don't !  For  love  of  your  own 
soul  don't  go  to  throw  yourself  away  thus — don't 
bring  down  wrath  and  shame  on  your  head,  and 
doom  your  mother's  soul  to  endless  woe  !  I 
know  you  don't  love  me,  and  ir  lybe  you  have 
small  cause ;  but  I  loved  your  mother,  and  I 
nursed  you  when  a  fair  babe.  Oh,  Mistress  Rosa- 
mond, think  before  it  is  too  late  !" 

The  woman  was  fairly  convulsed  with  sobs. 
11  Nay,  Prue,  why  should  I  bring  woe  on  my  head 
by  obeying  my  father  ?"  said  I.  "  I  never  was  pro- 
fessed, so  I  break  no  vows,  and  why  cannot  I  serve 
God  as  well  in  the  married  state,  which  was  that 
of  Saint  Peter  himself,  as  in  a  convent  ?  St  Peter 
was  married,  and  so  was  St.  James,  and  what  was 
good  enough  for  them  should  be  for  me,  surely." 

"  And  St.  Paul  says,  marriage  is  honorable  in 
all— remember  that,  Prudence  !"  says  Dick.  "  And 
when  our  Lord  was  on  earth,  he  went  to  a  wed- 
ding and  turned  the  water  into  wine  for  the  poor 
folks." 

"  I  don't  believe  it !"  says  Prue. 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  the  Gospels,  and  that 
is  worse  than  being  married,"  answered  Dick, 
gayly  ;  and  with  more  of  his  old  mischief  than  I 
have  seen  in  him  for  a  long  time.   "  Come,  Prue, 


$02  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

be  a  reasonable  woman,  and  here's  a  good  Harry 
gold  piece  to  buy  you  a  new  gown  for  the  wed- 
ding." 

M  I  shall  never  see  that  wedding  !"  said  she, 
never  noticing  the  money  he  held  out  to  her.  "  I 
have  warned  you  and  entreated  you,  and  all  in 
vain.  Your  blood  be  on  your  own  heads,  if  you 
persevere !  Only  remember,  when  the  stroke 
comes,  that  I  warned  you  !"  And  with  that  she 
turned  away  and  left  us. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


Aug.  jo — the  day  after. 
HE  formalities  are  all  arranged,  and  to- 
morrow I  shall  be  a  wedded  wife.  The 
matter  has  been  hurried  for  Harry's  sake, 
because  he  must  sail  so  soon,  and  also 
because  my  Lord  will  take  my  Lady  to  her  own 
old  home,  which  she  yearns  to  see  again.  Per- 
haps they  may  also  go  abroad  in  search  of  a 
milder  climate,  though  the  disturbed  state  of 
affairs  makes  that  doubtful.  We  are  to  keep 
house  at  the  Court  till  they  return,  and  then  go 
to  our  own  house  at  Coombe  Ashton.  I  would 
like  to  live  awhile  at  least  at  Tremadoc,  for  my 
heart  is  drawn  to  my  people  there,  and  perhaps 
we  shall  do  so.  I  am  glad  my  mother  has  Joyce, 
who  gains  on  our  hearts  every  day.  She  is  very 
loving  and  easily  swayed,  though,  as  was  to  be 
expected,  she  has  many  faults,  the  worst  of  which, 
in  my  mother's  eyes  and  mine,  is  a  want  of  truth. 
If  she  commits  any  fault  or  meets  any  mishap, 
she  will  lie  to  hide  it. 

My  mother  says  it  is  just  what  she  should  ex- 
pect in  any  one  so  severely  handled  as  Joyce  Vis 


304  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

been,  and  she  believes  it  may  be  overcome  by 
kindness  and  wise  treatment  :  and  she  did  yes- 
terday come  to  my  mother,  bringing  a  drinking 
glass  she  had  broken.  Nobody  saw  her  do  it,  and 
the  mishap  might  have  been  laid  on  that  univer- 
sal scape-goat  the  cat  ;  so  we  think  it  a  hopeful 
sign.  She  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  when  she 
found  I  was  going  away  as  well  as  Harry,  and  I 
could  hardly  pacify  her  by  promises  of  visits  and 
what  not.  She  would  fain  have  bestowed  on  me 
her  greatest  treasure,  the  Spanish  cat,  bringing 
it  in  her, arms  with  her  eyes  running  over  with 
tears  :  but  I  showed  her  that  'twould  be  unkind 
to  Cousin  Joslyn  to  part  with  his  present,  and 
that  Puss  would  be  unhappy  away  from  her,  and 
proposed  instead,  that  as  she  can  really  spin 
wonderful  well,  she  should  make  me  some  hanks 
of  fine  woollen  thread  for  my  knitting  ;  whereat 
she  was  comforted.  She  is  a  dear  maid,  all  the 
more  engaging  from  her  odd  blending  of  the 
young  child  and  the  woman. 

There  are  only  two  things  to  make  me  at  all 
uncomfortable.  One  is  that  I  have  had  a  most 
sad  and  reproachful  letter  from  dear  Mother 
Superior.  She  regards  my  marriage  as  nothing 
less  than  sacrilege,  and  implores  me  to  cast  oft 
my  betrothed  husband  and  return  to  the  arms  of 
my  Heavenly  Spouse  who  will  receive  me  even 
now  ;  and  if  I  am  faithful  in  penance  and  prayer, 
may  make  me  a U  the  brighter  saint  for  this 
sacrifice. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles. 


305 


But  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it.  She  says  she 
has  heard  that  both  my  step-dame  and  Lady 
Stanton  are  infected  with  the  new  doctrine.  She 
says  that  she  has  it  from  a  sure  hand  that  my 
mother  was  in  London  a  constant  associate  of  my 
Lady  Denny  and  other  well-known  heretics,  and 
was  believed  to  have  sent  relief  both  in  money 
and  food  to  heretics  under  sentence  in  the 
common  prisons.  She  lays  all  my  apostasy,  as 
she  calls  it,  to  the  account  of  my  Lady  Corbet, 
and  implores  me  to  fly  from  the  tyranny  and  ill- 
guidance  of  my  cruel  step-dame  to  the  arms  of 
my  true  Mother. 

I  must  own  that  I  shed  some  tears  over  this 
letter,  remembering  ancient  kindness,  and  griev- 
ing over  the  grief  of  the  dear  Mother  who  was 
ever  kind  to  me  even  when  I  was  under  a  cloud 
concerning  the  affair  of  Amice  Crocker  ;  but  it 
has  not  shaken  my  determination  one  whit.  I 
believe  (besides  what  I  owe  to  my  espoused  hus- 
band), I  am  in  the  plain  path  of  duty  in  obeying 
my  natural  born  father.  Seeing  the  truth  as  1  do 
now,  returning  to  the  convent  would  be  one  of 
two  things — either  going  into  a  regular  course  of 
hypocrisy  and  denying  of  the  truth  in  every 
word  and  action,  or  it  would  be  going  straight  to 
disgrace,  imprisonment,  and  perhaps  a  dreadful 
death  !  The  very  foundations  of  mine  ancient 
life  were  shaken  by  Amice  Crocker's  death  and 
the  circumstances  attendant  thereon,  and  they 
have  been  utterly  '-lined   and  pulled  down  by 


306  Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  or, 

what  I  have  since  heard  and  read  for  myself  in 
Holy  Scripture.  I  cannot  build  them  again  if  I 
would,  and  I  would  not  if  I  could.  As  to  my 
mother's  promise  concerning  me,  'twas  made  in 
ignorance,  and  I  do  not  believe  she  would  now 
desire  me  to  fulfil  it.  rl  could  not  do  it,  even  if  I 
were  not  promised  to  Richard.  I  can  honestly 
say  that  I  have  tried  to  decide  rightly,  and  I 
believe  I  have  done  so.  My  mind  is  at  ease,  so 
far  as  that  is  concerned. 

The  other  thing  which  troubles  me  is  that 
Harry  must  leave  us  the  very  day  after  the 
wedding.  I  think  his  desire  for  the  voyage  hath 
suffered  some  diminution  of  late,  specially  since 
Joyce  has  come  to  live  with  us  :  but  he  hath  too 
much  of  my  father  in  him  to  give  up  lightly  any 
purpose  he  hath  gravely  formed.  He  hath  grown 
much  more  manly  and  serious  of  late.  His  whole 
collection  of  pets — dogs,  horses,  the  old  donkey, 
the  peacock,  and  all,  he  hath  consigned  to  Joyce — 
all  save  the  old  bloodhound,  which  will  follow  no- 
body but  himself  and  my  mother. 

My  father  hath  given  me  a  beautiful  Spanish 
genet,  and  another  horse  for  my  own  riding, 
with  all  new  furniture  for  the  same.  I  have  half 
my  own  mother's  clothes  and  jewels,  and  great 
store  of  new  garments  and  ornaments  from  my 
parents  and  my  Lady,  and  a  cupboard  of  plate, 
far  too  fine  for  a  simple  squire's  dame,  from  my 
Lord.  Captain  Hawkins  came  yesterday  and 
brought  me  a  piece  of  beautiful  silk  stuff  from  the 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       30? 

Levant,  and  two  fine  carpets,  soft  almost  as 
velvet,  and  of  the  richest  colors.  He  says  in  the 
East,  and  even  in  Venice,  they  fise  these  beauti- 
ful carpets  on  their  floors,  which  seems  a  mighty 
waste.  Master  Jasper  Ellenwood  gave  me  a 
Venice  gold  chain,  and  a  drinking  glass  in  a 
case,  with  other  conveniences.  He  is  a  fine, 
grave  gentleman,  and  I  have  learned  much  from 
him  about  ways  of  living  abroad,  specially  in 
Holland,  which  country  must  be  a  kind  of  para- 
dise of  good  housekeepers.  It  is  even  true  that 
they  use  no  rushes  on  their  floors,  which  are 
scoured  two  or  three  times  a  week,  and  many 
even  of  the  common  houses  have  glass  windows. 
By  this  neatness  they  escape  many  plagues  in 
the  shape  of  vermin,  specially  fleas  ;  but  I  should 
think  such  constant  washing  and  dampness  would 
breed  rheums  and  fevers. 

I  must  not  forget  another  of-his  presents,  a 
beautiful  cup  made  of  a  kind  of  fine  pottery  ware, 
only  much  harder  and  lighter  than  any  of  our 
pottery,  and  ornamented  with  painting  and  gild- 
ing which  will  not  wash  off,  but  are  in  the  very 
-substance  of  the  ware.  He  says  these  dishes  are 
brought  from  Cathay,  where  even  the  common 
people  use  them  for  eating,  and  also  for  drinking 
1  kind  of  broth  of  certain  dried  herbs,  which 
makes  a  great  part  of  their  living.  Poor  diet, 
methinks,  which  would  hardly-content  English- 
men, though  Master  Jasper  says  'tis  a  healthful 
ind  refreshing  drink. 


jod  Lady  Rosamond 's  Book. 

It  is  really  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  a  man  who 
has  been  in  Cathay  and  the  Indies.  Richard  has 
asked  him  to  visit  us  by-and-by,  and  he  has 
promised.  His  advice  has  been  of  great  use  to 
my  Lady,  and  though  he  could  not  save  the  poor 
babe,  his  constant  care  of  the  child  has  endeared 
him  greatly  to  the  family,  so  that  my  Lord  would 
fain  have  him  take  up  his  abode  with  them. 

There  is  a  rumor  afloat,  which  nobody  can 
trace,  that  a  pirate  vessel  hath  been  seen  on  the 
coast  hereabouts,  but  my  father  and  Captain 
Hawkins  do  not  think  it  true.  Still  there  are 
many  lurking-places  on  these  wild  shores,  where 
such  a  vessel  might  hide,  and  it  behooves  us  all 
to  be  careful.  Master  Ellenwood  says  he  has  seen 
English  boys  and  girls  sold  as  slaves  in  the  Bag- 
nios of  Constantinople  and  Egypt. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


Coomb e  Askfon,  Sept.  10. 
ERE  am  I,  Rosamond  Corbet  no  more, 
but  Rosamond  Stanton,  a  sober  matron 
of  a  week's  standing.  After  all  we 
changed  our  plans  at  the  last,  and  came 
on  here  the  day  but  one  after  the  wedding,  on 
account  of  some  business  which  had  to  be  at- 
tended to.  Alice  was  quite  furious  at  my  being 
carried  off  so  soon,  but  none  of  us  at  Stanton- 
Corbet  were  in  any  mood  for  festivity,  and  I  was 
by  no  means  sorry  to  escape  the  usual  round  of 
wedding  banquets  and  jests,  and  have  a  little 
time  to  think.  .My  father  and*mother  and  Joyce 
came  over  with  us,  and  left  us  only  this  morning. 
We  are  all  sad  at  Harry's  going  away,  and 
Joyce  is  broken-hearted.  I  expected  from  her  a 
tempest  of  grief,  and  then  all  over;  but  it  goes 
much  deeper  than  that.  I  do  believe  those  two 
childish  hearts  have  waked  up  to  real  love.  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  Joyce  yesterday,  telling  her 
how  she  must  strive  to  be  docile  and  cheerful,  so 
as  to  take  my  place  as  a  daughter  at  home,  and 
make  them  all  happy. 


j/o        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  she,  "  but  I  can  never 
make  your  place  good,  Rosamond." 

1  Nobody  can  ever  exactly  fill  another's  place 
perhaps,"  said  I  :  u  but  we  can  all  do  our  best  to 
adorn  our  own.  You  have  a  great  deal  to  learn, 
'tis  true,  but  your  capacity  is  good,  and  in  my 
mother  and  Master  Ellenwood  you  have  the  kind- 
est of  teachers.     Now,  what  are  you  smiling  at  ?" 

"  Because  you  talk  so  old  /"  answered  the  saucy 
popinjay.  "One  would  think  Mistress  Stanton 
was  twenty  years  older  than  our  Rosamond  !" 

"  Whereas  she  is  really  many  years  younger,"  I 
answered,  glad  to  see  her  laugh,  though  at  my 
own  expense.  She  sobered  down,  however,  and 
begged  my  pardon  for  her  sauciness,  adding  that 
she  meant  to  be  very  good,  and  learn  everything 
that  my  mother  would  teach  her. 

"  And  I  mean  to  be  happy,  too  !"  she  added, 
very  resolutely,  though  with  some  bright  drops 
standing  in  her  eyes  :  "I  am  so  thankful  to  Sir 
Stephen,  that  it  does  not  seem  as  if  I  could  ever 
do  enough  for  him.  Madam  says  I  must  thank 
God  too,  and  I  do.  When  I  think  how  I  lived 
with  my  Lady  Carey,  it  seems  as  if  I  had  been  in 
a  bad  dream  from  which  you  came  and  waked 
me.     It  was  a  blessed  wakening  for  me." 

And  for  us  too,  I  told  her,  and  indeed  I  think 
it  will  prove  so — she  shows  herself  so  well  con- 
ditioned, and  it  will  be  a  real  blessing  to  Harry 
to  have  a  wife  brought  up  under  our  mother's 
eye.     But  that  is  looking  very  far  forward. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.      3/1 

There  is  no  village  here,  only  a  little  fishing 
hamlet,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Coombe  ;  but  to 
my  surprise  I  find  they  have  really  a  dame- 
school,  taught  by  a  woman  who  came  hither  last 
year.  There  is  no  church  nearer  than  Clovelly, 
whkh  Is  three  miles  away,  and  Stanton,  which  is 
just  a.9  far  in  the  other  direction. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


Sep.  12. 
HAVE  been  very  busy  ordering  my 
house  and  my  servants,  by  the  help  of 
Mrs.  Warner,  whom  my  mother  has 
lent  me  till  I  shall  be  more  at  home. 
She  is  a  great  help  by  her  experience  and  clev- 
erness, and  a  right  pleasant  cc <panion  as  well. 
She  owned  to  me  that  she  ?*:J  sometimes  long 
for  London,  but  nevertheless  was  quite  content 
wherever  her  mistress  was.  She  has  lived  with 
my  mother  since  the  days  of  her  first  marriage, 
and  travelled  with  her  both  in  England  and  in 
foreign  parts,  and  her  mind  is  enlarged  much 
beyond  the  ordinary  waiting-gentlewoman's 
tittle-tattle.  If  it  were  not  selfish  toward  her 
and  my  mother,  I  would  love  to  keep  her  alto- 
gether. 

We  went  down  this  afternoon  to  see  the  vil- 
lage, if  it  can  be  called  so,  and  especially  the 
school  of  which  we  had  heard.  All  the  men 
were  abroad  fishing,  as  usual,  but  the  women 
made  us  very  welcome.  I  found  them  all  speak- 
ing well  of  the  schoolmistress,  though  the3'  owned 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       j/j 

that  they  had  thought  it  nonsense  at  first  ;  but 
two  little  orphan  maids  whom  she  took  in,  made 
such  marvellous  progress  in  spinning  and  sewing 
that  the  mothers  were  soon  won  over.  It  seems 
she  asks  no  fees  in  money  (of  which  indeed  they 
have  next  to  none),  but  is  content  with  enough 
offish  and  fuel  to  eke  out  the  product  of  her  own 
goats,  hens,  and  herb-garden,  which  she  works 
with  her  own  hands. 

After  chatting  with  one  and  another,  we  went 
on  to  the  school,  a  decent  but  very  small  cot- 
tage, from  the  door  of  which,  as  we  came  up, 
streamed  forth  some  dozen  of  urchins,  who  all 
stopped  to  stare  at  the  new  lady,  of  course, 
and  then  awaking  to  a  sense  of  manners,  they 
went  off  in  quite  a  shower  of  reverences  from  the 
girls,  and  bobs  from  the  little  lads,  all  the  latter 
very  small,  of  course.  I  asked  the  name  of  one 
and  another,  but  could  extract  very  little  from 
their  shyness.  One  little  girl,  however,  rather 
older  than  the  rest,  told  us  her  name  was  Jane 
Lee — which  is  next  to  no  name  at  all,  in  these 
parts. 

"  And  what  is  your  dame  called  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  our  dame.  Mammy  calls  her  Dame 
Madge." 

Just  then  the  dame  herself  appeared  at  the 
door,  and  I  could  hardly  repress  a  cry  as  I  recog- 
nized in  the  tall  spare  figure,  and.  strong  but 
kindly  features,  one  associated  with  the  most 
solemn  passage  of  all   my  life — one  whom  I  last 


Jj^         Lady  Rosamonds  Book;  or, 

saw  as  the  doors  of  St.  Ethelburga's  shrine  closed 
on  her — Magdalen  Jewell  !  I  saw  too  that  she 
knew  me,  for  she  turned  very  pale.  She  has 
grown  quite  gray,  and  looks  older  and  more  bent, 
but  the  repressed  fire  still  shines  in  her  eyes  as 
when  she  bade  Queen  Catherine  and  the  rest  of 
us  welcome  to  her  cottage  at  Torfoot.  I  put  my 
finger  on  my  lip,  and  I  saw  she  comprehended 
the  signal.  She  asked  us  into  the  cottage,  and 
placed  seats  for  us  with  all  her  old  courtesy; 
and  while  I  was  puzzling  my  brains  how  to  be- 
gin, she  relieved  me  of  my  trouble  in  the  most 
natural  way  possible. 

"  I  knew  not  that  our  young  lady  of  the 
manor  was  to  be  one  whom  I  had  seen  before  !" 
said  she.  "  You  are  most  welcome,  madam,  to 
my  poor  cottage." 

Then  to  Warner,  who  looked  surprised :  "  I 
used  to  live  some  way  from  the  convent  where 
the  lady  was  educated,  and  have  seen  her  both 
in  the  church  and  at  the  convent  gate,  helping 
the  kind  ladies  distribute  their  alms." 

"  And  I  was  at  your  cottage  on  the  moor  with 
good  Queen  Catherine  and  her  bower-woman," 
I  added.     "  Do  you  not  remember  ?" 

"I  do,  though  I  knew  not  then  it  was  the 
Queen  !"  answered  Magdalen.  "  Do  you  know, 
madam,  how  it  fares  with  that  good  lady?" 

I  told  her  very  ill,  I  feared  ;  and  then  spoke 
of  the  work  she  had  taken  in  hand. 

"  Aye,  'tis  little  I  can  do  !"  she  answered,  "yet 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.      315 

every  little  helps,  and  the  poor  maids  are  out  of 
the  way  at  heme.  They  take  well  enough  to 
spinning  and  making  of  nets,  and  I  would  fain 
teach  them  to  sew,  but  needles  and  thread  are  so 
hard  to  come  by  that  the  mothers  do  not  like  to 
waste  them  in  such  little  hands  !" 

I  told  her  I  would  supply  her  with  both  if  she 
would  come  up  to  the  house.  I  was  burning  with 
a  desire  to  see  her  alone. 

$i  Is  not  the  air  here  bad  for  your  health  ?"  I 
ventured  to  ask  her. 

"  Nay,  I  think  not,"  she  answered,  taking  my 
meaning  at  once  :  "  I  have  had  no  trouble  here- 
tofore." 

Mistress  Warner  now  reminded  me  that  it  was 
growing  late,  and  we  took  our  leave.  In  the 
evening  Magdalen  came  up  to  the  house,  and 
Richard  and  I  got  from  her  the  history  of  her 
adventures.  She  said  she  had  remained  in  a 
hiding-place  she  knew  of  for  three  or  four  days, 
till  danger  of  pursuit  was  over,  and  had  then  made 
her  way  across  the  moor,  disguised  as  a  hawker 
of  small  wares,  till  she  reached  this  place,  where 
she  thought  herself  safe,  as  there  is  little  or  no 
communication.  And  indeed  there  are  no  roads 
across  the  moors  which  lie  between  us  and  my 
old  home,  though  we  are  not  many  miles  away. 
Magdalen  was  much  touched  at  hearing  of  the 
manner  of  Amice  Crocker's  death. 

"  Twas  a  blessed  end,"  she  said  ;  "  and  yet  I 


316  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

must  needs  grieve  that  her  young  life  should  be 
laid  down  for  my  old  one." 

"I  do  not  so  regard  it,"  I  said.  "  I  believe 
Amice  must  soon  have  died  at  any  rate,  and  what 
she  did  could  only  at  worst  have  hastened  the 
end  a  little." 

"  Her  work  was  done  and  yours  was  yet  to  do," 
said  my  husband  (the  name  comes  strangely  to 
my  pen,  even  yet).  "  You  are  doing  a  good  work 
here,  and  so  far  as  my  power  reaches  you,  shall 
be  protected  in  it.  Only  keep  your  own  counsel, 
and  I  trust  all  will  be  well." 

{These  few  leaves  which  follow  were  writ  first 
on  certain  small  bits  of  paper \  which  I  chanced  to 
have  in  my  pocket ;  but  in  such  a  cramped  hand, 
and  so  uncertainly  in  the  darkness,  that  I  had  much 
ado  to  read  them  myself  when  1  tried  to  make  the 
fair  copy  which  I  have  put  in  here.  I  have  kept 
the  first  leaves,  and  the  very  sight  of  them  seems 
to  bring  over  me  the  close  and  heavy  smell  of  the 
vault,  just  as  the  odor  of  crushedivy  will  ever  bring 
to  mind  that  stormy  October  morning.] 


1 


CHAPTER    XLI. 


St.  Ethelburgds  Shrine,  Sept.  jo. 
DON'T  know  that  any  one  who  loves 
me  will  ever  see  these  lines,  but  stranger 
things  have  happened,  and  I  will  never 
give  up  while  I  live  the  hope  of  seeing  my 
husband    again.     For  his    sake   I  will  keep  my 
senses  together,  by  God's  help,  through  all  the 
horrors  of  this  place,  and  of  all  with  which  they 
threaten  me.     Yea,  if  one  of  these  niches,  as  that 
fiend  threatened,  is  destined  to  enclose  me  alive, 
I  will  struggle  to  the  last.     I  will  never  give  up. 
Magdalen  escaped  from  this  place,  and  why  not 
I  ?     Only  no  one  knows  I  am  here.     They  will 
all  think  I  have  been  carried  away  by  the  pirates. 
But  it  may  be  His  will  even  yet  to  save  me,  and  if 
so,  none  of  their  schemes,  however  artfully  laid, 
but  must  fall  to  the  ground.     And  if  I  am  to  suf- 
fer for  my  faith,  I  know  He  will  support  me  to  the 
end,  as  He  did  Amice  and  has  done  many  another. 
By  His  help  I  will  never  deny  Him  ;  and  they  shall 
never  make  me  say  I  am  sorry  for  marrying  my 
husband — never  !     I  glory  in  his  name  !     I  cher- 
ish the  memory  of  his    last   embrace,  when  Wt 


jr8  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or> 

thought  ourselves  parting  for  but  a  few  hours,  and 
I  know  we  shall  meet  again  where  no  malice  or 
wrath  of  man  can  part  us.  Yet  my  spirit  shrinks 
to  think  of  his  return  to  his  desolate  home  !  Oh, 
Richard,  Richard  !  Oh,  to  see  thee  once — only 
once  again  ! 

Mistress  Warner  and  I  had  set  out  to  walk  down 
to  the  cove  to  see  a  child,  one  of  Magdalen's  pupils, 
who  had  met  with  a  bad  scald.  Richard  had  rid- 
den over  home,  meaning  to  be  back  at  night.  We 
had  gone  about  half  way,  when  I  remembered 
some  linen  I  had  meant  to  bring  for  a  lying-in 
woman,  and  sent  Warner  back  for  it — I  sitting 
meanwhile  on  a  rock  which  formed  a  natural  seat 
beside  the  stream.  I  had  sat  thus  but  a  few  mo- 
ments, when  I  heard,  or  so  I  believed,  a  child  cry- 
ing in  the  wood  close  at  hand.  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  that  one  of  the  children  from  the  ham- 
let had  got  astray,  and  as  I  always  run  about  our 
own  woods  without  fear,  I  went  to  seek  it.  I  was 
well  within  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  when  all  at 
once  I  felt  myself  seized  from  behind — a  (J  Dak 
was  thrown  over  my  head,  and  I  was  so  muffled 
♦.hat  I  could  not  scream  or  make  any  noise  to  be 
heard. 

4<  Make  no  resistance,  Mistress  !"  said  a  man's 
voice.  "  If  you  utter  a  sound,  you  die  the  next 
moment !" 

I  was  in  their  power,  and  there  was  no  help, 
so  I  submitted ;  and  being  bound,  I  was  carried 
some  distance,  and  then  found  myself  in  a  boat 


TJie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       jig 

from  which  I  was  lifted  up  the  side  of  a  vessel 
and  placed  below.  The  air  was  stifling,  even  if 
my  head  had  not  been  covered  ;  but  at  last  the 
cloak  was  removed  and  my  eyes  were  bandaged 
instead.  I  made  good  use  of  them  in  the  mo- 
ment I  had  them,  however,  and  saw  that  I  was 
in  the  cabin  of  a  small  vessel,  such  as  ply  along 
this  west  coast  to  and  from  Bristol.  More  I  was 
not  allowed  to  see.  Somehow  my  mind  was  curi- 
ously calm  all  the  time.  I  believed  I  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  pirates,  and  might  be  carried 
away  to  Turkey  and  sold  as  a  slave  ;  but  I  was 
determined  not  to  lose  my  life  or  liberty  without 
an  effort.  I  said  my  prayers,  commending  to 
Heaven  myself,  my  husband,  and  my  friends  at 
home,  and  prayed  earnestly  for  release  and  for 
grace  in  my  time  of  need.  I  kept  my  ears  open, 
and  judged  that  I  was  alone  in  the  cabin  ;  but  I 
could  now  and  then  catch  a  few  words  from  the 
deck,  and  those  words  I  was  certain  were 
English. 

After  much  tossing,  which  lasted  for  many 
hours,  we  were  again  still,  and  I  heard  the  cast- 
ing of  anchor  and  the  lowering  of  a  boat.  I  was 
once  again  muffled  in  the  cloak,  and  being  set  on 
shore,  found  myself  on  horseback  behind  some- 
body, to  whom  I  was  bound  fast  by  a  belt.  We 
rode  fast  and  far — how  long  I  could  not  tell,  but 
at  last  our  ride  came  to  an  end.  I  was  once  more 
taken  down,  carried  through  some  place  which 
echoed  hollow,  like  a  vault,  and  then  down-stairs  : 


120  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

but  before  I  reached  the  bottom,  I  heard  a  whisper 
which  told  me  where  I  was. 

"  Ah,  'twas  ever  what  I  looked  for !"  said  a 
voice,  which  I  knew  right  well. 

44  Hush !"  said  another  voice,  with  imperative 
sharpness.  Then  being  set  down,  my  hands  and 
eyes  were  unbound,  and  a  glance  told  me  my 
whole  situation.  I  was  in  the  vault  under  St. 
Ethelberga's  shrine,  in  our  old  convent  garden. 
Before  me  were  the  new  mother  assistant,  a  priest 
whom  I  had  never  seen,  and  one  in  the  dress  of  a 
lay  brother.  I  expected  to  see  Sister  Catherine, 
but  she  was  not  there,  though  I  am  sure  I  heard 
her  voice.  Not  a  word  was  said  till  my  bonds 
were  unloosed,  and  I  was  set  down  on  a  rude 
bench.     Then  the  priest  addressed  me  : 

■J  Rosamond  Corbet !  Miserable  apostate  and 
perjured  nun  that  you  are,  your  spiritual  superi- 
ors are  still  anxious  to  save  you  from  the  fate  you 
have  prepared  for  yourself.  Therefore  they  have 
brought  you  to  this  holy  place.  You  may  yet  re- 
pent— may  yet  return  to  the  home  from  which 
you  have  wandered,  may  resume  your  former 
place,  and  even  rise  to  high  honor  and  trust 
therein." 

Here  I  distinctly  heard  a  contemptuous  sniff, 
from  the  neighborhood  of  the  door,  and  1  knew 
that  Sister  Catherine  was  at  her  old  tricks.  I 
was  about  to  speak,  but  was  sternly  silenced. 

44  Listen,  while  there  is  time,  to  the  terms  ol 
mercy,"  said  the  priest.     "We  are  willing  to  re- 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       12 1 

ceive  you  on  these  conditions.  You  sh.a.l\  wiite 
with  your  own  hands  a  letter  to  the  Bishop, 
declaring  that  you  were  coerced  into  your  mar- 
riage, and  have  taken  the  first  opportunity  to  es- 
cape therefrom.  You  shall  also  say  that  you  had 
been  already  secretly  professed,  before  you  went 
home.  There  are  abundance  of  people  to  bear 
witness  that  you  had  all  the  privileges  and  duties 
of  one  of  the  professed,  being  constantly  present 
at  '  obedience,'  and  having  charges  of  importance 
laid  upon  you,  such  as  are  proper  only  to  the  Sis- 
ters. It  will  thus  be  easy  to  procure  the  annul- 
ling of  your  sorcalled  marriage,  and  after  a  time 
of  seclusion  and  penance,  which  I  promise  you 
shall  be  made  as  light  as  possible,  you  may  again 
take  your  place  as  an  honored  member  of  this 
holy  family." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  ?"  said  I. 

For  all  answer  he  pointed  to  a  niche,  beside 
which  were  laid  tools,  bricks  and  mortar. 

"  You  dare  not  award  me  such  a  fate  !"  said  I  : 
"my  kinsmen  and  my  husband  would  fearfully 
avenge  me." 

"Your  kinsmen  and  your  husband  believe  you 
to  be  carried  off  by  pirates,"  was  the  answer. 
"They  will  be  seeking  you  on  the  seas  and  among 
the  Turks,  while  your  bones  are  mouldering  under 
these   walls." 

I  saw,  as  in  a  flash  of  lightning,  al!  the  hoi  rid 
helplessness  of  my  position,  but  my  courage  did 
not  give  way. 


322  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

<l  Answer  me  one  thing,"  said  I.  "  Does  Mother 
Superior  know  that  I  am  here  ?  Has  she  any 
share  in  this  plot  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  priest,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation.  "  She  is  not  here.  She  has  been 
called  to  Exeter,  to  attend  a  Chapter  of  the  order, 
and  will  probably  be  placed  at  the  head  of  a  house 
in  that  place." 

Again  I  heard  Sister  Catherine's  sniff  of  con- 
tempt. 

"  And  how  much  time  do  you  give  me  to  de- 
cide this  matter  ?"  I  asked  again. 

"  We  might  justly  require  you  to  decide  on  the 
instant,"  answered  the  priest,  "but  in  pity  to 
your  soul,  and  because  we  hope  that  solitude  and 
prayer  may  bring  you  to  a  better  mind,  we  give 
you  a  week,  in  which  to  consider.  This  Sister 
will  bring  you  food  and  water,  but  presume  not 
to  speak  to  her,  or  to  make  any  noise,  on  pain  of 
being  removed  to  a  worse  place.  Contemplate 
that  cell — your  living  grave — think  of  what  a  life 
of  usefulness  and  happiness  may  yet  be  yours — 
and  we  have  good  hope  that  you  will  return  to  a 
better  mind." 

He  seemed  to  wait  for  me  to  speak,  but  I  only 
bowed  my  head,  and  they  presently  withdrew, 
leaving  me  alone,  to  consider  of  the  infamous 
propositions  they  had  made  me,  in  presence  of 
that  awful  token  of  the  fate  that  awaited  me, 
should  I  refuse  to  comply.  Then  my  strength 
gave  way  all  at  once.     I  sank  on  the  damp  ground 


TJie  Stanton- Corbet  Utromcles.        323 

in  a  kind  of  swoon,  which  I  think  passed  into 
sleep.  I  was  waked  at  last  by  the  sound  of  the 
chapel  bell,  calling  the  Sisters  to  early  prayers, 
and  found  myself  not  wholly  in  darkness.  There 
was  a  very  small  window,  close  to  the  ceiling  of 
the  deep  vault.,  which  admitted  a  ray  of  light. 
When  my  eyes  grew  more  accustomed  to  the  ob- 
scurity, I  could  see  everything  plainly.  A  heap 
of  straw  had  been  placed  in  one  corner,  and  by  it 
stood  a  coarse  loaf  and  a  pitcher  of  water.  The 
rest  of  the  vault  was  as  I  had  last  seen  it,  with 
some  stone  coffins,  the  occupants  of  which  had 
long  since  mouldered  into  dust,  some  tattered 
remains  of  banners  and  winding-sheets,  and  one 
new  leaden  coffin,  placed  there  not  long  since. 
I  remembered  that  the  Vernon  family,  or  that 
branch  of  it  to  which  our  mother  belonged,  had 
a  right  of  burial  here.  But  by  one  of  those  niches 
in  the  wall,  of  which  I  have  spoken,  lay  what  had 
a  grim  significance,  namely,  a  pile  of  bricks,  some 
mortar,  and  building  instruments. 

A  cold  shudder  ran  through  me  at  the  sight. 
I  fell  on  my  knees,  and  with  tears  and  sobs,  be- 
sought to  be  saved  from  such  a  dreadful  death, 
and  to  be  restored  to  my  husband.  I  also  prayed 
for  strength  to  suffer  all  that  might  come  on  me, 
without  denying  the  truth  ;  and  I  believe  my 
prayer  has  been  answered,  for  I  now  feel  quite 
calm  and  strong.  I  have  eaten  and  drank,  and 
feel  refreshed.  I  am  determined  not  to  yield, 
but  to  escape  if  possible.     No  Corbet  did  ever 


J24  Lady  Rosamond" s  Booh. 

yet  fear   death,   nor  yet    resign   life   without  a 
struggle. 

I  have  been  making  a  close  survey  of  my  prison, 
and  have  found  an  inestimable  treasure,  namely, 
the  remains  of  two  great  funeral  torches,  of 
black  wax,  overlooked  and  left,  I  suppose,  at  the 
time  the  leaden  coffin  was  placed  here.  They 
are  large  and  thick  enough  to  give  light  for  many 
hours.  Tis  a  wonder  the  rats  have  not  devoured 
them.  I  have  also  cautiously  tried  the  door  of 
the  vault,  and  find  that  it  yields  a  little  under  my 
hands.  Luckily  (though  that  is  hardly  the  word) 
I  have  both  flint  and  steel  in  my  pocket,  in  a 
Dutch  tinder-box  Master  Jasper  gave  me.  I 
have  also  a  knife  and  scissors.  'Tis  well  they 
did  not  think  to  search  me. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


Trcmadoc,  All  Saints'  Day,  Nov.  /. 
ITH  the  other  proofs  of  her  care  and 
kindness, my  mother  hath  sent  me  a  store 
of  pens  and  paper,  and  I  am  minded  to 
beguile  my  somewhat  too  abundant 
leisure,  by  setting  down  in  order  the  account  of 
my  late  wonderful  escape.  Magdalen  and  Grace 
take  off  my  hands  the  whole  care  of  our  little 
household,  and  I  have  hitherto  been  only  too 
glad  to  rest,  and  let  them  wait  upon  me ;  but  my 
spirits  and  strength  are  recovering  themselves 
sooner  and  more  easily  than  I  could  have  thought 
possible,  after  such  a  shock. 

I  left  off  my  memoranda  at  the  point  where  I 
had  found  the  remnants  of  funeral  torches.  All 
that  day  and  night,  as  I  had  opportunity,  I  care- 
fully, and  without  noise,  worked  the  door  back 
and  forward,  finding  that  it  yielded  more  and 
more  at  every  effort.  I  knew  it  led  only  to  the 
stairs,  and  that  between  me  and  freedom  there 
still  lay  the  heavy  upper  door,  with  its  bolts  and 
bars,  and  the  convent  walls  ;  but  I  had  something 
else  in  view.     I  remembered  the  ruined  staircase 


326         Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

leading  upward,  and  this,  if  it  were  possible  to 
scale  it,  I  meant  to  explore.  Toward  night  came 
two  veiled  figures,  bringing  me  bread  and  water. 
I  heard  the  door  unlock  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  took  pains  to  be  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
vault,  lying  on  my  bed  of  straw. 

"  So  l"  whispered  one  of  my  visitors,  while  the 
other's  back  was  turned.  "  So  this  is  something  of 
a  change  from  waiting  on  queens  and  being  the 
favorite  of  superiors.  But  I  ever  knew  to  what  it 
would  come." 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  write  it,  but  my  fingers 
did  tingle  to  pull  the  veil  from  her  face  and  cuff 
her  ears  soundly.  But  I  made  her  no  answer,  and 
did  not  even  look  up  till  they  left  me.  I  waited 
till  the  clock  told  eleven,  and  then  lighted  my 
torch,  taking  care  to  shade  it  well  from  the  little 
window,  and  begun  my  labors  once  more  at  the 
door.  And  here  befel  a  wondrous  piece  of  good 
luck ;  for  as  I  fumbled  at  the  lock,  I  touched  a 
knob  which  yielded  under  my  grasp,  a  little  trap 
fell  inward,  and  a  space  was  opened  through  which 
I  easily  put  my  hand  and  pushed  back  the  bolt. 

I  remember  having  heard  of  the  devotion  of 
some  of  our  Sisters  in  olden  times,  who  used  to 
have  themselves  bolted  into  this  underground 
chapel  for  a  day  and  a  night  of  watching  and 
prayer.  Mayhap  this  trap  was  made  for  their 
convenience,  if  they  did  at  any  time  tire  of  their 
solitude.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  joyfully  opened  the 
door  and  ascended  the  stairs.     The  upper  door 


The  Stanton -Corbet  Chronicles.       J2J 

was  fast,  and  would  not  yield  an  inch  tj  all  my 
efforts  ;  so  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  half 
ruined  stairway.  The  moon,  nearly  at  full,  shone 
through  the  window  slits,  and  made  light  enough 
for  me  to  see  where  to  place  my  feet  ;  and  with 
hard  climbing,  and  some  peril,  I  reached  the  top. 
Lo,  there  a  trap  door  with  rusted  iron  grates, 
which  gave  way  without  much  trouble  ;  and  1 
found  myself  on  the  top  of  the  tower  whereof  I 
have  spoken  before.  Keeping  my  head  well 
down,  I  crept  to  the  battlements  and  looked  over. 
The  tower  joined  and  formed  part  of  the  outer 
wall,  and  was  covered  by  luxuriant  ivy  of  a  cen- 
tury's growth,  for  aught  I  know.  As  I  lay  here, 
breathing  with  transport  the  fresh  air  of  heaven, 
I  saw  crouched  below  a  dark  figure,  wrapped  as  it 
seemed  in  a  cloak.  They  have  set  a  guard,  was 
my  first  sickening  thought  ;  but  presently  the 
person  arose  carefully  and  began  to  peer  among 
the  ivy  leaves,  and  to  feel  cautiously  with  the 
hand.  Then  the  face  was  raised,  and  the  moon 
shining  thereon,  showed  me  features  which  I 
could  never  forget  1  I  ventured  to  lean  forward, 
and  called  softly  : 

"  Magdalen  1" 

"  My  Lady  Rosamond,  is  that  you  ?"  was  the 
answer,  in  a  joyful  whisper.  "  I  knew  it — I  felt  you 
were  here.     But  how  have  you  got  up  there  ?" 

"  The  question  is,  how  I  shall  get  down  ?"  I  said, 
with  an  odd  inclination  to  laugh. 

"Climb    down   by  the  ivy!"    was  the  instant 


328        Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

answer  :  "  the  main  stem  is  on  this  side.  Tis 
like  a  tree,  and  the  wall  is  also  rough.  The  dis- 
tance is  not  great,  even  if  you  fall.  But  wait. 
Let  them  get  to  the  midnight  office,  which  is 
tolling  even  now." 

I  again  lay  down  on  the  top  of  the  tower,  praying 
not  so  much  in  words  as  in  will,  for  the  strength 
and  coolness  needful.  In  a  moment  I  heard  the 
peal  of  the  organ,  and  then  Magdalen's  voice, 
saying  : 

M  Now — my  Lady — now  f  Be  cool  and  steady, 
there  is  no  danger,  thus  far  !" 

Down  I  went,  scrambling  like  a  cat,  and  getting 
scratches  and  bruises  the  marks  of  which  still 
remain.  A  high  wind  was  blowing,  with  now  and 
then  a  rush  of  rain,  and  our  old  mastiff  in  the  gar- 
den was  baying  the  moon  in  his  usual  dolorous 
fashion.  I  have  many  a  time  wished  him  hanged 
for  those  musical  vigils  of  his,  but  now  I  was  glad 
of  anything  to  make  a  little  more  noise.  It 
seemed  an  age  ere  I  reached  the  ground,  and  I  did 
get  a  fall  at  last,  but  I  was  up  and  in  Magdalen? 
arms  in  an  instant. 

"  Now  for  our  best  speed  of  foot  !*  said  she. 
M  Give  me  two  hours'  leave,  and  then  let  them  do 
their  worst.     Can  you  walk  ?" 

"  Yes,  run,  if  need  be  !"  I  answered. 

"  Then  hasten  after  me  !" 

We  soon  gained  the  bank  of  a  little  brook, 
about  a  mile  from  the  convent  walls,  and  here 
M  igdalen,    bidding   me   look   well    to   my   feet, 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.      329 

slipped  into  the  bed  of  the  stream.  I  followed 
her,  and  we  made  our  way  down  the  channel, 
despite  the  rushing  water  and  rolling  stones,  till 
we  reached  the  spot  where  the  brook  descended 
into  a  deep  ravine. 

"  We  may  rest  a  moment,  now  !"  said  Magda- 
len. As  she  spoke,  we  clearly  heard  borne  on 
the  wind  the  sound  of  the  convent  bell,  ringing  as 
if  an  alarm. 

"Can  they  have  missed  us  already  ?"  said  I. 

"  Nay,  they  would  hardly  ring  the  bell  if  they 
had  !"  answered  Magdalen.  As  she  spoke,  a  red 
gleam  shot  up,  and  was  reflected  on  the  tall  spire 
of  the  church,  increasing  momently  in  brightness. 

"  The  torch  !  the  torch  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"What  torch?"  asked  Magdalen.  I  told  her 
how  I  had  found  and  lighted  the  remains  of  the 
funeral  torch.  I  had  left  it  propped  up  in  the 
corner  when  I  ascended  the  stairs,  and  doubtless 
it  had  fallen  over  on  the  ground,  where  the  frag- 
ments of  cere  cloths  and  coffins,  and  the  straw  of 
my  bed  would  be  as  tinder  to  the  flame.  1  had 
set  the  shrine  on  fire  ! 

"  So  much  the  better  !"  said  Magdalen,  coolly. 
"  They  will  have  their  hands  full  enough  for  the 
next  hour." 

"  Specially  if  the  flame  reaches  the  stores  of 
fuel  in  the  shed  which  joins  the  shrine  !"  I  said. 
•'  I  fear  the  whole  will  go  !" 

And  a  great  pang  seized  my  heart  as  I  thought 
of  the  home  where  I  was  once  so  happy. 


jjc  Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  or, 

"  Let  it  go,"  said  Magdalen,  bitterly.  M  It  and 
its  like  have  long  enough  cumbered  the  ground. 
But  we  must  not  tarry  here,  lady.  Follow  me — 
look  well  to  your  steps,  and  fear  not." 

We  now  descended  into  the  ravine,  through 
which  the  brook  raved  and  roared,  apparently 
filling  the  whole  space  at  the  bottom. 

•'  There  is  a  path,  though  of  the  narrowest  !" 
said  Magdalen,  as  we  reached  the  bottom. 
"  Tarry  a  little  till  I  strike  a  light." 

She  lighted  as  she  spoke  a  dark  lantern,  which 
she  had  carried,  and  showed  me  indeed  a  very 
narrow  path  ;  hardly  wide  enough  for  one,  under 
the  banks,  which  here  became  high  and  steep, 
towering  in  bare  walls  above  our  heads. 

"  This  is  our  own  Coombe  Ashton  stream," 
said  she,  "  and  would  lead  us  homeward,  but  you 
must  not  venture  hither  till  we  find  how  the  land 
lies." 

The  day  had  begun  to  dawn  as  we  reached  a 
projecting  rock,  beyond  which  there  seemed  to 
be  no  passing. 

"  Have  faith  still !"  said  Magdalen.  As  she 
spoke,  she  stepped  out  on  a  stone  in  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  and  then  disappeared  round  the  pro- 
jection.    In  another  moment  I  heard  her  voice  : 

"Now,  my  Lady,  place  j'our  foot  on  that  stone 
firmly,  and  give  me  your  hand.  Take  time.  The 
stream  is  swollen,  but  you  can  do  it." 

I  obeyed  almost  blindly,  for  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  exhausted.     She  extended  her  hand — I  caught 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       jji 

it,  and  found  myself  drawn  into  a  recess  or  cavern 
in  the  rock,  of  some  size,  screened  above  and 
below  by  the  projecting  cliffs. 

"  Thank  God  !"  said  Magdalen.  "  We  may  now 
rest  for  some  hours.  The  king's  bloodhounds 
would  not  track  us  hither,  and  I  don't  believe  the 
wild  beasts  yonder  will  try.  They  will  think 
doubtless  that  you  have  perished  in  the  flames. 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  this  cavern  has  sheltered 
the  saints  in  time  of  persecution.  It  was  mine 
own  home  for  many  days,  and  there  are  others 
like  it  on  these  wilds,  known  only  to  a  few  of  the 
faithful." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  heaping  together  some 
dried  herbage  in  one  corner,  and  she  now  bade 
me  lie  down,  and  covered  me  with  the  same.  She 
then  produced  some  dried  flesh  and  a  little  flask 
of  wine,  and  would  have  me  eat  and  drink,  setting 
herself  the  example. 

"  And  now  tell  me,  how  is  my  husband  ?"  said  I. 

"Well  in  health,  but  sore  distressed  in  mind," 
was  the  answer.  "  He  believes,  as  they  all  do, 
that  you  have  been  carried  off  by  pirates." 

"  And  how  came  you  to  think  otherwise  ?"  I 
asked  again. 

M  For  several  reasons,"  she  answered.  "  I  had 
seen  one  that  I  knew  for  a  priest,  despite  his  sec- 
ular dress,  peeping  and  prying  about  the  place, 
and  I  knew  he  had  questioned  the  children  as  to 
your  comings  and  goings.  I  had  thought  to  warn 
you,  but  was  too  late.     Then  I  did  not  believe  a 


jj2  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or% 

pirate  would  have  taken  such  a  roundabout 
course,  or  would  have  known  the  country  so  well, 
and — I  cannot  well  tell  you,  but  it  was  borne  in 
on  my  mind  that  you  were  in  mine  old  prison  ; 
and  I  was  determined  at  least  to  find  out.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  gain  entrance  as  a  pilgrim 
to  the  shrine  above,  and  I  had  some  precious 
relics  wherewith  to  pay  my  way,"  she  added, 
with  a  bitter  smile. 

"  That  would  have  been  putting  your  head  into 
the  lion's  mouth  with  a  vengeance  !"  I  said. 

"  Nay,  they  would  not  have  known  me.  The 
Lady  is  away,  and  all  who  had  ever  seen  me 
were  dead,  or  in  no  case  to  recognize  me.  You 
know  I  never  frequented  the  convent  gates,  and 
while  I  was  a  prisoner  no  one  saw  me  but  that 
kind  old  woman  who  waited  on  me,  and  the  old 
priest.  Beside  that,  my  stained  face  and  gray 
hair  would  have  been  a  good  enough  disguise. 
Then  when  I  saw  how  thick  the  ivy  grew  on  the 
old  tower,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  gain 
entrance  in  that  way,  and  no  thanks  to  any  of 
them ;  and  I  was  considering  the  matter  when 
you  called  me.  But  how  did  you  come  to  the 
top  of  the  tower  ?" 

I  told  her  how  it  had  chanced  with  me.  "  And 
what  is  to  be  done  now  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  well  say,"  she  answered,  "till 
we  have  consulted  with  your  husband.  "  I  know 
not  if  it  will  be  safe  for  you  to  return  at  once  to 
your  home  ?" 


Tfie  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       jjj 

"O  yes,  let  me  go  home  !"  I  cried,  as  all  at 
once  the  thought  of  Richard's  anguish  and  hope- 
lessness rushed  over  me.  "  Let  me  go  home  to 
my  husband  !  He  will  know  what  to  do."  And 
I  tried  to  spring  to  my  feet,  but  a  strange  dizzi- 
ness seized  me,  and  I  sank  backward  almost  faint- 
ing. 

"  You  see  you  must  rest,"  said  Magdalen,  as  she 
once  more  produced  her  flask  of  wine,  gave  me  to 
drink,  and  bathed  my  face  with  water.  "  You  are 
utterly  worn  out,  and  no  wonder.  Do  but  remain 
quiet  for  a  few  hours,  and  then  if  you  are  able  we 
will  go  down  to  Coombe  Ashton  together." 

I  could  not  but  allow  that  she  was  right  ;  and 
the  more,  as  I  really  was  unable  to  stand  without 
giddiness.  Magdalen  once  more  arranged  my 
rough  bed,  and  I  sank  into  a  sound  sleep,  from 
which  I  waked  to  hear  the  sound  of  voices  ;  and 
raising  myself  on  my  elbow,  I  saw  Magdalen  in 
low  but  earnest  converse  with  an  elderly  man, 
who  looked  like  a  shepherd.  As  I  moved,  she 
turned  and  hastened  to  my  side. 

"  How  is  it  with  you,  madam  ?" 

"Why,  well,  I  believe,"  I  answered,  "  but  who 
is  this  ?     Methinks  I  have  seen  the  face  before  ?" 

"  That  have  you,  madam,"  answered  the  old 
man.  "  Do  you  not  know  your  father's  old  herd, 
John  Dean  ?" 

I  remembered  him  well  as  he  spoke  ;  an  old 
man,  and  reported  a  very  honest  one,  but  unsocial 
and  grave,  who  lived  in  a  little  cottage  on  the 


jj/  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

edge  of  the  moorland.  My  mother  and  I  had 
once  taken  refuge  with  him  during  a  thunder- 
storm, and  I  recollected  how  we  had  both  been 
struck  with  the  manner  and  words  of  the  man.  as 
being  much  above  what  we  should  have  expected. 
Seeing  that  I  had  my  wits  together  again,  and 
seemed  rested,  Magdalen  explained  her  plans— 
namely,  that  I  should  walk  as  far  as  John  Dean's 
oottage,  from  whence  I  could  easily  send  word 
home. 

"  Or  better  still,  let  me  bring  the  donkey  to 
the  hollow  yonder,  and  then  the  Lady  can  ride," 
said  John.     "  Tis  a  rough  way  for  her  walking." 

This  was  at  last  agreed  on,  and  John  hastened 
away,  by  what  path  I  could  not  see. 

"  How  came  he  here  ?"  was  my  first  question. 

Magdalen  hesitated.  "  If  I  tell  you,  Lady,  I 
place  his  life  and  that  of  others  in  your  hands.  Yet 
you  are  now  one  of  us,  having  suffered  for  the 
faith.     You  have  heard  of  the  Lollards  ?" 

I  told  her  I  had,  and  of  Wicklifife,  who  made 
an  English  Bible. 

She  told  me  "  that  ever  since  his  day,  there 
had  been  many  of  the  faithful,  both  in  England 
and  in  Scotland,  who  preserved  their  English 
Bibles  and  other  books,  and  met  in  secret  and 
wild  places  to  read  and  study  the  same,  and  to 
pray  and  praise  together.  In  the  towns,"  said 
she,  "we  do  know  the  faithful  by  certain  private 
marks  placed  upon  their  dwellings  ;  and  we  meet 
in  inner  chambers  and  cellars.     In  the  country  we 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       jjj 

betake  ourselves  to  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth, 
like  the  faithful  of  old,  and  this  is  one  of  our 
meeting-places." 

As  she  spoke,  she  displaced  a  stone  in  the 
cavern's  side,  and  showed  me  a  deep  and  dry  re- 
cess, in  which  lay  a  great  book,  which  she  drew 
out  and  opened.  It  was  an  English  Bible,  not 
printed  as  we  have  them  now,  but  written  with 
the  hand,  and  well  preserved,  though  the  leaves 
were  dark  with  age,  and  some  of  them  ready  to 
fall  to  pieces  through  much  handling. 

"  Those  who  could  write  among  us  made  many 
copies  of  parts  of  these  books,  which  were  passed 
from  hand  to  hand,"  said  she.  "But  now,  of  late, 
we  have  had  printed  books  from  Germany — even 
the  whole  New  Testament,  such  as  that  which 
your  friend  gave  me." 

"  And  is  John  Dean  then  one  of  your  number  ?" 
I  asked  her. 

"  That  is  he,  and  one  of  the  best,"  she  answered 
me.  "  There  are  others  scattered  through  this 
wild  moorland  country,  and  this  cavern,  where  we 
have  found  refuge,  is  one  of  our  meeting-places. 
Here  also  do  we  keep  a  supply  of  food  and  drink 
for  any  persecuted  ones  fleeing  as  a  bird  from  the 
fowler,  and  it  was  on  this  business  that  John  Dean 
came  hither  this  morning." 

I  told  her  I  trusted  the  day  would  come  when 
every  household  in  England  should  have  the 
pure  word  of  God  in  hand. 

"  God  grant  it  !"  said  she.     M  One  thing  I  know. 


336        Lady  Rosamond's  Book ;  or, 

that  the  religious  houses  and  orders  are  growing 
less  and  less  in  favor  with  the  people.  Your  con- 
vent yonder  is  of  the  best,  and  gives  much  in  char- 
ity, nor  did  I  ever  hear  of  scandal  within  its  walls 
as  long  as  I  have  lived  near  it  ;  yet  if  it  were 
put  down  to-morrow,  as  some  of  the  small  houses 
have  already  been,  I  do  not  believe  a  hand  would 
be  raised  in  its  defence." 

[This  proved  true  enough  afterward,  WJien 
the  convent  was  put  down,  a  few  years  later,  and 
my  husband  purchased  the  lands  and  what  remained 
of  the  buildings ',  he  was  fain  to  set  a  watch  to  keep 
the  common  people,  who  in  the  days  of  its  prosperity 
had  lived  on  its  alms,  from  stealing  the  very  leads 
and  woodwork.  Yet  our  house  was  one  of  the  best — 
free  from  gross  scandal,  and  always  spending  a 
great  part  of  its  large  revenue  in  almsgiving. 
The  truth  is  that  the  convents,  by  this  very  alms- 
giving, did  engender  and  encourage  about  them  a 
kind  of  idleness  and  careless  living,  which  are  the 
very  parents  of  all  ill — a  basilisk  brood,  ready  to 
devour  their  mother,'] 

As  we  whiled  away  the  time  with  such  dis- 
course, John  Dean  once  more  made  his  appearance, 
and  signified  that  all  was  ready.  I  found  myself 
very  weak  and  stiff  when  I  tried  to  move,  but  the 
hope  of  soon  meeting  my  husband  gave  me 
strength,  and  I  was  able  to  accomplish  the  scram- 
ble up  the  bank  to  the  place  where  the  donkey 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles,       337 

was  tethered.  Right  glad  was  I  to  reach  the 
good  man's  cottage,  and  to  lay  my  wearied  limbs 
on  his  bed.  Here  I  again  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
or  rather  lethargy,  from  which  I  was  wakened  (oh, 
blissful  wakening  !)  by  my  husband's  voice  and 
embrace.  The  good  old  herd  had  sallied  forth 
once  more,  made  his  way  to  my  father's  house  as 
the  nearest  place,  £nd  came  in  upon  the  assem- 
bled family  with  the  news  that  the  lost  was  found  ! 
That  evening  found  me  safe  in  my  father's 
house,  which  I  had  thought  never  to  see  again. 
At  first  my  Lord  and  my  father  were  for  keeping 
no  terms  with  my  abductors.  They  should  learn 
that  in  these  days  a  lady  of  family  was  not  to  be 
carried  off  in  that  high-handed  way.  But  by 
degrees  calmer  counsels  prevailed.  It  was 
thought  that  for  their  own  sake  my  persecutors 
would  keep  quiet,  specially  as  they  would  doubt- 
less believe  me  to  have  perished  in  the  flames  : 
but  the  accusation  of  heresy  was  an  ugly  thing, 
and  might  be  revived  at  any  time.  After  due 
consideration,  it  was  thought  best  that  Richard 
and  myself  should  for  the  present  retire  to  this 
our  estate  of  Tremadoc,  where,  surrounded  by 
our  own  dependants,  and  with  no  religious  house 
near  to  spy  upon  us,  we  might  think  ourselves  safe 
till  those  at  home  should  see  how  matters  would 
turn.  Hither  then  have  we  come,  bringing  with 
us  for  sole  attendant  Magdalen  Jewell,  to  whom 
I  owe  more  than  life.  She  is  my  own  personal 
attendant,  while  Grace  rules  the  household,  as 


jjS  Lady  Rosamond's  Book. 

usual.  Tis  a  kind  of  exile,  to  be  sure,  yet  a  most 
calm  and  happy  one.  I  am  recovering  my  health, 
which  was  sorely  shaken  by  my  fatigue  and  ex- 
posure, and  hope  soon  to  go  about  the  house  and 
to  take  some  order  about  the  dame-school,  which 
our  good  Father  Paul  so  much  desires. 

The  story  goes  at  home  among  our  servants 
and  neighbors,  that  I  was  really  taken  by  pirates 
and  then  abandoned  on  the  waste,  in  some  great 
danger,  from  which  I  was  rescued  by  John  Dean 
and  Magdalen,  and  we  do  not  contradict  the  tale. 
My  mother  writes  me  that  the  shrine  of  St.  Ethel- 
burga  was  all  consumed,  save  the  bare  walls,  and 
also  the  sheds  of  fuel  and  the  offices.  The  main 
building  also  was  much  injured,  but  was  saved. 

I  know  not  how  long  we  shall  remain  here,  but 
I  am  quite  content,  though  we  have  no  society 
but  our  own  and  Cousin  Joslyn's.  The  estate  is 
large,  and  Richard  can  find  enough  to  do,  so  that 
time  shall  not  hang  heavy  on  his  hands,  and  we 
have  a  constant  resource  in  the  study  of  God's 
word.  I  can't  but  hope  the  time  will  come  when 
we  may  return  home  without  danger,  but  mean- 
time I  am  quite  content 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


Stanton  Court,  May  I2y  ijpo. 

T  was  but  the  other  day  that  in  looking 
over  my  papers  and  books  (for  I  am  an 
old  woman,  and  must  needs  be  thinking 
of  setting  my  house  in  such  order  as  I 
would  leave  it),  I  came  upon  this  volume,  con- 
taining the  record  of  my  girlish  days.  I  have 
had  much  pleasure  in  perusing  it,  and  thus  going 
back  to  the  days  of  my  childhood  and  youth.  I 
have  lived  to  see  great  changes.  In  this  land, 
where  I  was  once  so  near  to  being  a  nun,  there 
lingers  hardly  one  religious  house,  so  called.  The 
Scripture,  then  a  hid  treasure,  is  now  in  reach  of 
all,  taught  even  in  dame-schools,  and  read  in  all 
the  churches,  and  we  have  peace  at  home  and 
abroad,  sitting  every  man  under  his  own  vine  and 
fig- tree,  with  none  to  make  us  afraid. 

The  Spanish  Armada,  which  did  so  threaten 
us  last  year,  is  dispersed  like  a  summer  cloud, 
albeit  the  dispersion  thereof  did  cost  me  a  dear 
nephew,  and  I  may  say  my  last  daughter  also, 
for  I  have  little  hope  that  my  dearest  Mary  will 
long  survive  her  husband,  my  brother's  second 


140  Lady  Rosamond's  Book  ;  or, 

son,  who  died  of  his  wounds  at  Plymouth  aftei 
the  victory.  But  she  cannot,  in  course  of  nature, 
long  precede  her  father  and  mother.  My  husband 
is  yet  strong  and  hearty  for  one  of  his  age,  and  I 
n  yself  am  as  vigorous  as  a  woman  of  my  years 
i  in  expect  to  be. 

My  eldest  granddaughter,  an  orphan,  and 
lome  time  a  care  from  her  delicacy,  is  grown  a 
me  woman,  and  betrothed  to  her  cousin  Corbet, 
ny  great  nephew  and  her  second  cousin.  'Twas 
lot  altogether  with  my  will,  I  confess.  There 
lave  been  too  many  mixtures  of  the  blood  al- 
ready, yet  they  have  loved  each  other  almost 
bm  childhood,  as  did  Richard  and  myself,  and  I 
cannot  reasonably  oppose  the  match.  Tis  for 
her,  always  near  and  dear  as  a  daughter,  that  I 
have  taken  on  me  to  arrange  these  memorials, 
and  for  her  sake  I  add  a  few  words. 

My  father  and  his  second  wife  lived  to  see 
Richard  Earl  of  Stanton,  my  Lord  having  died 
unmarried  not  long  after  the  death  of  his  Lady 
and  her  child,  which  chanced  close  together. 
My  mother  survived  her  husband  for  many  years, 
living  most  happily  with  her  step-son  and  his 
wife  Joyce  whom  she  had  brought  up  under  her 
own  eye 

On  the  suppression  of  the  convents,  which  took 
place  under  my  Lord  Cromwell,  my  husband  had 
a  grant  from  the  king  of  the  lands  of  our  priory 
here,  not  however  without  paying  a  round  sum 
for   the   same.      He  also  bought  the  house  and 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronides.      jji 

lands  belonging  to  my  old  convent,  and  bestowed 
them  in  endowing  a  boys'  and  a  girls'  school  in 
our  village,  and  in  rebuilding  certain  almshouses 
which  have  existed  here  from  very  early  times. 
Most  of  our  Sisters  had  homes  to  which  they  re- 
turned. Sister  Catherine  was  one  of  the  first  and 
loudest  to  be  convinced  of  the  error  of  her  ways, 
and  related  more  scandals  than  I  care  to  record 
concerning  our  manner  of  life.  But  she  was  ever 
a  hypocrite  in  grain,  seeking  naught  but  her  own 
advancement.  Our  Mother  was  at  last  left  almost 
alone,  with  nobody  but  Sister  Placida,  and  one 
young  maid,  an  orphan.  Sister  Placida  chose  to 
go  abroad,  to  a  convent  of  our  order  in  France, 
and  we  supplied  her  the  means  to  do  so.  Our 
Mother  would  fain  have  done  the  same,  but  we 
persuaded  her  to  try  abiding  with  us  for  a  year, 
and  she  found  herself  so  well  content  that  she 
remained  the  rest  of  her  life,  save  for  some  few 
years,  during  the  unhappy  reign  of  Queen  Mary, 
when  she  betook  herself  to  a  convent  in  London, 
but  returned  to  us  again  when  the  house  was 
broken  up.  She  was  not  fond  of  talking  about 
it,  and  I  don't  think  she  found  the  return  to  her 
old  life  either  as  pleasant  or  as  edifying  as  she 
expected.  She  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  though 
she  never  in  words  renounced  her  old  faith,  yet 
during  her  later  years  she  attended  our  family 
devotions,  and  spent  much  time  in  the  study  of 
the  Scriptures. 

I  never  saw  anv  one  more  amazed  than  she 


342  Lady  Rosamond's  Book;  or, 

was  when  I  told  her  the  secret  of  the  fire  which 
destroyed  the  shrine  of  St.  Etheiburga,  for,  as  I 
believed  at  the  time,  she  had  no  knowledge  of 
the  plot  which  had  so  nearly  destroyed  me.  She 
was  absent,  even  as  the  priest  told  me,  at  a 
chapter  in  Exeter,  and  they  thought  to  complete 
their  work  and  remove  all  its  traces  before  her 
return.  Nay,  I  have  always  believed  that  but  for 
their  signal  and  most  unexpected  discomfiture 
she  herself  might  have  been  the  next  victim,  for 
she  had  more  than  one  bitter  enemy  in  the  house, 
specially  in  Sister  Catherine,  who  never  forgave 
her  humiliation,  and  who  afterward  bruited  some 
shameful  scandals  about  dear  Mother  and  the 
rest  of  the  family. 

As  I  always  suspected,  'twas  Prudence  who  was 
the  first  cause  of  mine  arrest,  she  giving  informa- 
tion to  Father  Barnaby  concerning  what  she 
called  mine  apostacy.  She  travelled  the  land 
afterwards  as  a  pilgrim,  visiting  various  holy 
places,  and  trafficking  in  relics,  till  at  last  Richard 
and  I  being  on  a  journey,  found  her  set  in  the 
stocks  as  a  vagrant,  and  in  evil  case  enow.  We 
procured  her  release,  and  took  her  to  a  place  of 
shelter,  where  she  died,  as  I  trust,  penitent.  She 
confessed  to  her  treachery,  and  told  me  of  many 
instances,  wherein  she  had  abused  my  dear  mo- 
ther's ear  with  false  tales.  And  yet  she  persisted 
to  the  last,  and  as  I  believe  truly,  that  she  acted 
as  she  did  out  of  love  to  my  soul,  and  as  she  said, 
to  give  me  a  last  chance. 


The  Stanton- Corbet  Chronicles.       343 

As*  I  have  said,  my  husband  bought  the  church 
lands  about  here,  and  likewise  the  site  of  our  old 
convent,  which  last  he  gave  for  the  endowment 
of  our  boys'  and  girls'  schools  in  this  village.* 
No  doubt  there  was  much  injustice  and  greed  in 
the  way  the  convents  and  religious  foundations 
were  put  down,  and  good  and  bad  were  often  in- 
volved in  one  common  ruin.  Yet  I  do  believe 
the  suppression  of  the  convents  wrought  good  in 
the  end.  Such  a  life  as  theirs  is  utterly  without 
warrant  in  Scripture  or  reason.  Tis  clean  against 
nature  too,  and  it  could  not  be  but  that  great 
disorders  should  grow  out  of  it.  The  very  alms- 
giving, whereof  so  much  was  made,  did  foster  a 
swarm  of  beggars  and  idlers,  and  since,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  but  little  discretion  could  be 
used  by  those  who  never  saw  the  folk  at  their 
own  homes,  the  most  impudent  and  worthless 
fared  the  best.  I  believe  our  house  was  better 
than  the  general  run.  There  was  no  open  scandal 
in  my  time,  at  least,  and  all  were  kindly  treated  ; 
yet  I  would  sooner  see  a  daughter  of  mine  in  her 
coffin  than  doomed  to  such  a  living  death. 

I  leave  this  book  to  my  oldest  daughter,  Amy 
Rosamond  Champernoun,  daughter  of  Sir  David 
Champernoun,  and  my  second  daughter  Rosa- 
mond, and  betrothed  bride  of  my  great  nephew 


•  They  are  called  Lady  Rosamond's  schools  to  this  day.     I  would 
all  convent  lands  had  been  as  well  bestowed. — D.  C 


344  Lady  Rosamond's  Booh. 

Henry  Corbet,  captain  of  her  Majesty's  ship  the 
Grayhound.  I  beseech  her  to  transmit  the  same 
to  her  eldest  daughter,  or  failing  that,  to  the 
female  descendant  of  our  line  whom  she  may 
judge  most  fit  to  have  the  same. 

Rosamond  Stanton. 


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ROMANCE  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.     Short  Chapters 
in  Natural  History.     By  J.  G.  Wood. 

II. 

LEADERS   ONWARD  AND  UPWARD.     Brief 

Biographies  of  Noble  Workers.     By  Henry  C.  Ewart. 

III. 
ROUND   THE   GLOBE.      Through  Greater  Britain. 
By  W.  C.  Proctor. 

OTHERS    IN    PREPARATION. 


New  York:   THOMAS  WHITTAKER,  2  and  3  Bible  House. 

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THE  PALACE  IN  THE  GARDEN.  By  Mrs.  Molesworth, 
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i2mo,  cloth.    $1.25. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  " MLLE.  MORI,"  ETC. 

THE  FIDDLER  OF  LUGAU.  By  the  author  of  "The  Atelier 
du  Lys,"  "  Mile.  Mori,"  etc.  Illustrated  by  W.  Ralston.  i2mo, 
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BY  HELEN  HAYS. 

THE  VILLAGE  MAID.  By  Helen  Hays.  Illustrated.  i2mo, 
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"  It  is  a  sweet  and  healthful  story,  with  just  the  right  dashes  of  wholesome  young 
love  in  its  narration  to  interest  our  girls.  The  tale  runs  smoothly  and  is  perfectly 
told." —  The  Living  Church. 

BY  L.  T.  MEADE. 

INCH  FAWN.  A  Tale  of  Irish  Life  and  Character.  By  L.  T. 
Meade.     i2mo,  cloth.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

"  In  these  times,  when  Irish  national  affairs  are  the  great  absorbing  topic  in  English 
politics,  one  can  obtain  many  fine  glimpses  of  Irish  life  and  character  in  Miss  Meade's 
charming  story  of  '  Inchfawn.'  The  story  itself,  amid  the  flood  of  fiction  of  the  day,  is 
especially  worth  reading."  —  The  Press. 

BY  E.  A.  RAND. 

FIGHTING  THE  SEA;  or,  A  Winter  at  the  Life-saving 
Station.  By  Rev.  Edward  A.  Rand.  i2mo,  cloth.  Illustrated. 
$1.25. 

"  It  is  an  admirable  idea  to  combine  the  exciting  stories  of  adventure  that  all  healthy 
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patrolmen,  who  lead  such  a  hard  life  and  do  such  deeds  of  valor  and  humanity."  — 
The  Critic. 

A  Fine  Edition  for  Libraries  or  Presentation,  illustrated 
by  GORDON  BROWNE. 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE.  By  Daniel  Defoe.  Reprinted  from 
the  author's  edition,  1719,  with  103  illustrations  by  Gordon 
Browne.  Printed  from  new  plates.  595  pages,  thick  i2mo,  bound 
in  vellum  cloth,  with  a  very  striking  design  in  full  gilt.     Price,  $2.00. 


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iDRIDS  OF  100KS, 

BY  THE  BEST  WRITERS  OF  STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN. 

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HAVING  been  appointed  sole  agent  for  the  United  States  for  the 
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Juvenile  Books. 

The  National  Society,  in  beginning  the  publication  of  these  books, 
has  set  a  high  standard  of  literary  excellence ;  and  by  securing  the  best- 
known  authors  of  Children's  stories  the  Society  will  continually  add  to 
their  list,  always  aiming  to  issue  only  such  books  as  will  keenly  interest 
young  folks,  keeping  clear  of  the  namby-pamby,  goody-goody  style, 
while  exercising  a  helpful  influence  in  their  daily  lives.  The  series 
may  safely  be  depended  upon  as  being 

Books  of  Sterling  Worth 

especially  for   home  reading  and  libraries.    The  volumes  are   all 
illustrated  and  attractively  bound. 


SCAPEGRACE  DICK.  By  Francis  Mary  Peard,  author  of 
"The  Rose  Garden,"  " Mother  Molly,"  etc.  i2mo,  4  illustrations, 
cloth.    $1.05  net. 

M  A  thoroughly  wholesome,  hearty  book,  without  a  dull  chapter  or  an  improbable 
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PRENTICE  HUGH.  An  historical  story.  By  Frances  Mary 
Peard.     i2mo,  6  illustrations,  cloth.    $1.05  net. 

FOR  HALF  A  CROWN.  A  story.  By  Esme  Stuart, author 
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A  PROMISE  KEPT.  By  Mary  E.  Palgrave,  author  of 
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A  LITTLE  STEPDAUGHTER.  By  the  author  of  "Mile. 
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UNCLE  IVAN;  or,  Recollections  of  Thirty  Years  Back.    By 

M.  Bramston.     i2mo,  3  illustrations,  cloth.    75  cents  net. 

THE  HEROINE  OF  A  BASKET  VAN.  By  M.  Bramston, 
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GOLDHANGER  WOODS.  A  Child's  Romance.  ByM.andC. 
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JKS-OTHERS    IN    PREPARATION.  ^8r 


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A    DOMESTIC    HEROINE.      A    Story    for    Girls. 
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CASTLE    COMFORT.    A  Story  for  Children.    i2mo, 
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CITY   COUSINS.    A  Story  for  Children.    12 mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.     $1.00. 

"  In  '  City  Cousins '  we  have  a  daintily  told  story  by  Mrs.  W.  J. 
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writes  well,  and  her  stories  always  have  a  purpose." — The  Sunday- 
school  Times. 


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iTORIBS 

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i. 

HER  GENTLE   DEEDS.     By  Sarah  Tytler,  author 

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Illustrated.     #1.50. 

II. 

THE     STRENGTH     OF     HER    YOUTH.      By 

Sarah  Doudney.     nrao,  cloth.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 

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OLDHAM;  or,  Beside  all  Waters.  By  Lucy 
Ellen  Guernsey.     121110,  cloth.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

"  Her  story  is  pleasant,  her  description  of  characters  and  places 
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THE  HOME  OF  FIESOLE.  A  Story  of  the  Times 
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"  It  is  an  intensely  interesting  story  of  Savanarola  and  his  times, 
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"  Skilfully  wrought,  and  full  of  beauty  and  historic  interest." —  The 
New  York  Observer. 

V. 

HEROES  OF  ANCIENT  GREECE.  A  Story  of 
the  Days  of  Socrates  the  Athenian.  By  Ellen  Palmer. 
igmo,  cloth.     Illustrated.     $1.25. 

"  A  pleasant  love  story  of  the  Peloponnesian  War.  The  social  and 
political  manners  of  Athens  and  Sparta  are  well  depicted.  There  is 
a  little  of  Herodotus,  something  of  Thucydides  and  Xenophon,  a 
touch  of  Greek  religion,  philosophy,  and  Socrates." —  The  Literary 
World. 


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